


Perfectly Wrong

by blythechild



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Absence, Bad Decisions, Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Dogs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fanart, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Hotels, Hurricanes & Typhoons, Illustrations, Los Angeles, Misunderstandings, New York, Older Woman/Younger Man, Older people being awesome, Possibly Unrequited Love, Post-Canon, Retirement, Romantic Friendship, Secret Relationship, Separations, Sex, Spoilers, Storms, Texting, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-04-23 00:52:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 82,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19140310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythechild/pseuds/blythechild
Summary: When Emily realizes that she's not the star of her own life, she leaves the FBI behind to restart her story.A post-canon story.This is a work of fanfiction and as such I do not claim ownership over the characters herein. It was created as a personal amusement. The artwork contained in this story is original and I claim all copyrights over it. Please do not repost it without permission. This story is suitable for readers 18 years and older.





	1. Chapter 1

[](https://ic.pics.livejournal.com/blythechild/6784666/515684/515684_original.png)

A long time ago, a girl met a boy.

No, scratch that. It wasn’t _that_ long ago, and this isn’t a fairy tale by any stretch of the imagination. But a girl did meet a boy, and though that’s where the story began, it’s also where all the trouble came from as well.

The girl was blonde, pretty and going places – not long to remain a girl. The boy would remain a boy for much longer, but eventually he too grew up in ways that weren’t exactly kind to him. He was pretty as well, but never saw it, and both his beauty and his blindness became a liability down the line. When Emily eventually showed up, this pretty girl and pretty boy had already decided to become friends, and he’d even once emphatically stated, “I’m _not_ in love with Jen”, though Emily knew a flat-out lie when she heard it. But through the years, he proved his words true. At least, that’s what Emily thought until he walked into her office unexpectedly one afternoon, shut the door, and showed her how mistaken she was.

“She said she loves me.”

Emily blinked for a handful of seconds feeling strangely inert as her smile faded from her. “Who?”

“Jen.” When he looked at her, his eyes were shadowed and pinched, almost begging for her to make sense of this for him. “When we were kidnapped.”

Emily took a breath because she needed time to suddenly reorient her worldview. Her hands came alive with pins-and-needles, and she curled her fingers around a file folder to fight the unexpected reaction away. It was as if she’d been jolted, and her body was trying to shake feeling back into her after the assault. But _why?_

She forced out a gusty chuckle that made his eyebrows rise in surprise and waved the folder in his direction. 

“Of course, she loves you, you dork. You’ve been friends since you were twenty-two. You’re her sons’ godfather, fer chrissakes. You have dinner at her place once a week…”

“Emily, no,” Reid stepped closer, his hands flinging about before he clasped them tightly to get some control back. “Not ‘loved’, past tense, or ‘love’ as in platonic whatever… _Loves_. She says she always has and was too scared to admit it until now.” He leaned into the silence that fell between them after his statement, as if the burden of what remained unsaid for so long had finally become untenable and he was stumbling under it. “What does that _mean?_ ”

Emily turned away towards her desk and tossed her file folder onto the blotter as she heard Reid shuffle up behind her.

“Emily?”

She sighed and let her eyes close for an instant to get a grip on the moment. _It means I was wrong. Maybe this is a fairy tale after all…_ The pins-and-needles stopped, her limbs going frighteningly numb instead.

“It means she was scared she was going to die, Reid.”

“Well… I know. She said that… but…”

She turned back to him. “What do you want it to mean?”

He froze in his awkward hunch, blinking. “What… what do _I want it to mean?_ ”

“Yeah, Reid,” she sighed and crossed her arms. “Don’t act like a thirteen-year-old virgin about this. You’re a man – don’t be naïve. What, in all honesty, do you want what she said to mean for you?”

He took his time and slowly straightened to his full height, eyes glazing over and going distant as if she didn’t matter. She supposed that was true enough in the moment; he was years away from her in a memory he shared with someone else.

“Fifteen years ago, i-it would’ve been everything I’d ever dreamed of hearing,” he mumbled to himself. Emily stiffened, but he was too lost in his mind to notice.

“And now?”

His eyes snapped back to hers and then, slowly, a blush crept into his expression as he stared at her. “Now I’m… surprised, I guess. Flattered. Confused. Worried. Curious.”

Then he did something that, years later, she would consider to be one of the scarier moments of her life. He stepped closer and grabbed her hand, squeezing it for all he was worth, eyes begging for help.

“What do you think, Em?” he whispered.

She twitched and couldn’t hide it from him. He backed away a half-step, and she pulled her hand from his at the same moment. Then she fell into old habits and tried to cover it with some jaded nonchalance.

“Christ, you’re kidding me, right?” 

She turned quickly and moved to put the desk between them, to instill a sliver of the Chief/Agent dynamic that she’d mostly failed to achieve in her few years at the helm of the Unit. When she glanced back at him, he was looking at her as if he’d never met her before walking into her office.

“No, I’m not kidding,” he said quietly.

She huffed loudly. “You do not want my opinion. Trust me.”

“Yes, I do.”

“ _No,_ you don’t,” she glared back at him. Honestly, how dare he be this obtuse? She wouldn’t hold back if he insisted because she’d never held back from him before, and he _knew_ that. 

“Of course, I do.” His eyebrows lowered, and his voice did the same, angry at her refusal. “You’re my friend. I’ve come to you for advice.”

“Bullshit,” she laughed darkly. “You don’t know what to do, so you want me to make up your mind for you. No matter what I say, you can absolve yourself of the responsibility of it, and if it’s not to your liking, you can funnel all of your frustration into anger against me. I know you’re still holding onto resentment towards me from the Lindsay and Cat clusterfuck, but even so, this is a shitty position to put a friend in, Reid, and you’re smart enough to know that. So, thanks, but no thanks. I’ll pass.”

He stepped up until he was brushing the far side of her desk, glaring at her.

“How self-absorbed do you think I am? I’d never make you responsible for my choices,” he growled. 

“Wouldn’t you?” she spat back.

“No,” he grumbled firmly, gaze becoming stormy in a way that was new to him but, sadly, familiar to her since his return from prison. “And for the record, I don’t resent you for what Cat did. She conned everyone – the whole team. That scenario doesn’t solely rest on your shoulders, Em. You’re right: I am an adult and I have to live with the decisions I make.”

He took a beat, his confusing tumultuousness ebbing away as quickly as it blew in. Then he sighed as if his chest were going to give up on him. “I’m here… I’m here because this has really thrown me. In a way that hasn’t happened in years… maybe since Maeve… and I need your objectivity.”

She snorted softly. “I’m hardly objective.”

“Well, objective enough. C’mon, Em. Your unvarnished opinions are pretty much the cornerstone of this relationship, and I’m asking for that now.”

She hated him a little in that moment; hated everything they had, and that he was willing to blow it up over _this._ Then, a familiar streak of self-destructiveness rose up and took hold of the reins. If he wanted it this way, so be it.

“Fuck you, Spence,” she said quietly, and it shook a little as it fell out of her. His eyebrows popped up, but she didn’t let them settle. 

“You wanna know what I think? I think it’s selfish,” she breathed, the air feeling noxious as it left her. “I think that the two of you oughta know better than to indulge in this. I think you haven’t looked at JJ that way in years, and now – suddenly – you’re trying to convince yourself that you have. _And_ I think she’s using this to deflect from stuff she’s refusing to go home to.”

Reid shuffled uneasily on his feet, his mouth popping open but nothing coming out.

“And what if she loves you? So what?” Emily felt cruelty flood her like a drug, carrying her away on the bloody roar of its recklessness pounding in her chest and throat. “She had _years_ to tell you, _years_ to make different decisions in her life. But she didn’t. What does that tell you about the way she feels? And do you really think that you’ll ever be happy with her – in this sugar-spun fiction you’re dreaming of – knowing _everything_ you’d have to break in order to achieve it? Will, Henry, Michael, your friends, yourself…”

_Me. Us. This friendship._

“I’d ask you if you were high to be considering this, but I know better. Even so, I can’t figure out what other factor would make you abandon your moral borders so completely to entertain the idea of destroying a family you love. That’s not you. Honestly, it’s not like either of you, but, hell, what do I know? Maybe I’ve misread you from the start.”

She gulped, suddenly breathless, and it came out wetter than she was comfortable with. “If you do this, I don’t think I can reasonably say I ever knew you at all.”

She was shaking by the end, and Reid’s expression had mutated from shock to horror. He backed away from her desk.

“Jesus…” he whispered. 

“You asked,” she choked, trying to shrug away the passing high of her vindictiveness. Now it was over, it felt as if she’d destroyed them with her pettiness, not him for provoking it.

“You… you really think… I’m selfish.” He was looking at his shoes and his tone was ambiguous enough that she couldn’t tell if it was a question or not. “Maybe I… maybe I deserve a little happiness too. I mean, why not me?”

Her damn heart cracked a little. It wasn’t only the words, or the knowledge that life had been especially withholding to Spencer Reid, but it was the futility in his voice as he said it, as if he never really believed it would happen despite what he was considering. Something old and worn rose up in her throat, swelling in anticipation of finally seeing the light of day, but she gulped it down viciously, and went another way with it.

“I think I’ve said all that I want to on this matter.”

His eyes rose to lock on hers. But she was ready, armored, solid as granite.

“And something else you didn’t consider when you walked in here and detonated this little thought grenade is that you and JJ should be careful about whom you share this with.” She glared at him for a painful moment as he glared back. “I’m your boss. If you won’t respect my boundaries as a friend, at least respect them as your superior. This puts me in a very awkward position. You know the regulations as well as I do.”

A terrible moment of pointed nothingness came between them. She watched a molten blush rise in his cheeks, but his gaze hardened and cooled at the same time. It was the look he’d walked out of prison with, and she’d brought it back to him, here, with her acidic resentment and her utter refusal of his request. It made her sick to realize that if she hadn’t lost him before, she surely had now. But she held her ground, living under the patrician, unflappable mask that she’d inherited from her mother.

“Fine,” he said eventually, and much quieter than she expected. “I won’t bring it up again. Whatever happens, it won’t be a problem for you.”

He glared at her a moment longer, then turned and left her office without another word. She remained frozen where she was, with the bullpen quietly buzzing just beyond her doorway, staring at the spot he’d just vacated. For a blissful moment she felt nothing at all. Then it descended with the sort of authority that meant she’d be dragging it around with her for years afterwards.

“I guess that’s it then,” she croaked.

She sat at her desk. She opened the file folder and forced herself to read it. 

She just got on with it.


	2. Chapter 2

The problem with this story is that they’d kissed once – her and Reid. Well, _almost_ kissed. It probably wasn’t as pivotal as she’d made it out to be, and even she can admit that, at the time, it hadn’t felt like much. But in the years since, she’d woven it into the fabric of them, both together and apart, with others and alone, until it became something she relied on to anchor them. She thought he did too. She thought it made them special to one another – more than nerdy buddies or dependable colleagues. No matter who she took to her bed, no matter how his heart bled for Maeve and others he never told her about, _they_ existed beyond that. She’d felt that way almost from the beginning of them. 

When they leaned against each other that night at the bar, all tipsy and warm, laughing too hard at Morgan’s sloppy dance moves to _Funky Cold Medina_ that Garcia plugged into the jukebox, with Emily’s fading bruises from Benjamin Cyrus all but forgotten under her make-up, she curled her fingers around the sleeve of his nappy sport coat, and he turned to her, laughing and sparkling, and so, so happy. He wiggled closer, a gust of beer floating from his smile and the sharp lines around it. His fingers covered hers on his arm and squeezed. The sport coat was atrocious – itchy and unrepentantly tweed – the sweater vest underneath it even worse; she was so pleased when his ‘brown period’ ended.

“How are you? Okay?” he slurred warmly.

And she had been. That night, startlingly so. The job was tougher than she anticipated – and that was something considering her previous experience – but she felt she was slowly slotting into place with the team, in this role, in her life. That evening the feeling culminated in an expansive gratefulness to everyone around her, for being accepted, for friendship, and for giving her purpose again. She loved them all so much that night in a way only booze could reveal.

“Yeah,” she sighed back, grinning up at him and knocking her shoulder more soundly against his. “Tonight especially, I’m more than okay. I feel great.”

“Oh really?” His grin got silly and he might have blushed as well. “Why is that?”

“I dunno,” she giggled from the effervescence of booze in her chest and ducked her face against the dreadful tweed for a moment. “I just… I think I’m starting to get it, ya know? The job an’ stuff. I’m feeling solider than I have in a long time.”

She glanced out to where Morgan was trying out something fancy and ended up spilling someone’s beer instead while Garcia shrieked with delight. She felt Reid chuckling against her, his breath breezing the side of her face.

“And I’m warm and happy and drunk,” she continued, watching Morgan make effusive apologies to the guy whose beer he’d assassinated. “And I love these idiots. Right now, I love them all so much… and it feels so amazing. But it’s probably because I’m loopy as fuck at the moment.”

She chuckled at her sloppiness until his fingers brushed hair from her eyes and then drifted down, feather-light and tickling, to draw her jaw around to face him. He’d stopped laughing, but his happiness was still there, a ghost behind the curl of his mouth and the openness of his gaze. She watched him carefully as he inched a little closer.

“It’s not the alcohol, Emily. You belong here. I can feel that.”

It was a simple statement, but it riveted her. Something in her bloomed under that recognition, the inclusion, and that it was he who voiced it first. He only held her with his fingertips and the pull of his soft-edged contentment. His normal seriousness dulled by beer, he had nothing but a sort of reckless optimism all over him and she found it surprisingly magnetic. She forgot about Morgan and Garcia, or the pounding music, or even how exposed she’d feel by this evening when she sobered up. He shrugged a little, perhaps embarrassed to have earned her focus suddenly, and hair flopped into his eyes.

He smiled shyly. “I’m not the most sensitive guy, so that must mean something, right? That everyone else senses it too.”

She hesitated, and then found her hand rising to curl and gently tuck a strand of hair away behind his ear. His smile stuttered a little and he became painfully focused on her movements. Her fingers drifted down to his coat collar, her index finger landing on his neck just above his shirt.

“You think so?” she murmured.

“Y-yeah… I do.” He swallowed noticeably.

She was amazed that he’d let her get so close and handsy without twitching. And he watched her carefully, too focused to remember he ought to be embarrassed he was staring. 

“Oh.” She ducked her face down and it forced his fingers to splay along her jaw, his palm cradling that side of her solidly. He didn’t drop his hand. She sighed. “Thanks.”

They held still like that for a second that seemed longer than it should, and then Reid cleared his throat.

“I’m… I’m happy that you feel like you’re a part of us now. It hasn’t been that long, I know, but I’d find it difficult to go back to the way things were before you got here.”

She looked up at him then, and his eyes seemed enormous and his eyebrows were creased like he’d just surprised himself.

“I mean, it’s like you said… you get it. I sorta rely on others to help me ‘get it’ too. I’ve come to rely on you a lot very quickly, Emily.”

She watched him blink at her – she could see him calculating if he’d gone too far with this friendly drunkenness – and something a little soft and foreign broke open in her then and bubbled to the surface.

“You know, you’re a lot more sensitive than you think you are,” she murmured, the finger on his neck tapping lightly. “You oughta have a little more faith in your instincts.”

“Oh yeah?” he breathed, and she felt his skin heat under her finger as a blush crept up him for real this time. “Maybe it’s just with you.”

“I’ll take that,” she said without thinking, and then thought it might be a mistake a second later.

The hand on her jaw drifted up as he thread his fingers in her hair and drew it back to reveal her face more clearly. He leaned in at the same time, and she froze, unable to decide if she should pull away or not; she’d been paralyzed between the connection they’d made and _knowing_ a bad idea when she saw it. But he pulled her in quietly, and she went with it. And then his lips were pressed to her forehead, lingering and soft as she blinked in surprise. He retreated with a contented, whispered, “Thank you, Emily”, and when they looked at each other again, he was smiling and utterly satisfied. She was shocked to discover herself smiling and satisfied right back. 

After that, they were different. _More_ , but not in the way she expected. After the surprise wore off, she was fine with it – more than fine, actually. They were closer than everyone else on the team, becoming more than friends. But never intimate, never physical. They came to know each other very well, and sometimes that led to terrifying conflicts between them. Like when she faked her death, or he denied her the knowledge of his migraines, or she moved to London and took up with Mark, or he fell for Maeve and hid her from everyone. So many complicated layers, sometimes about _them_ and sometimes not. But they always ended up drifting back, like magnets, snapping together too easily to be denied, and always with a greater understanding of who they were as dangerously flawed people. Emily came to believe that if they changed over time – moving from whatever this was to something more – it wouldn’t come as a surprise to her. And so, she didn’t worry about it or try to nudge it somewhere that they might not be ready for yet. She assumed it would always _be;_ she just took them for granted.

And then the ‘girl-meets-boy’ story took a turn, and Emily suddenly realized _she_ wasn’t the heroine of this narrative. Not the blonde, storybook fantasy, and not the star-crossed one who got away either. She was a secondary character, added for colour and insight, but with no significant ending of her own. And then the harsh realization that she’d given twelve years of her life to this slammed home and caused her to panic. Regardless of what she thought they were, or what Reid decided to do with his life now, they were no longer aligned. Perhaps she’d always been mistaken about that. She didn’t want to step back and watch Reid carry on his story with JJ or anyone else. And she wasn’t eligible to play a more substantial role than she already had.

She decided it was time to go.


	3. Chapter 3

It took another year to find the right opportunity, but when she met the headhunter for lunch on a breezy spring afternoon in the District, she took one look at the details of the offer and knew the meal was just a _pro forma_ show. The recruiter smiled like a con man in his thousand-dollar suit across from her.

“I’m good at my job, Ms. Prentiss. I wouldn’t have dragged us both out here in the middle of a work day if I didn’t think I could close this deal. My time’s just as valuable as yours, you know…”

Arrogance aside, she signed the offer before the entrees arrived, and didn’t feel that stab of doubt about leaving she did the last time. And that’s because everything about this time was different. Hotch and Morgan were gone. Rossi had retired and gone back to writing, trying to make marriage number four a success. Garcia was more independent than before, less worried over every detail of her ‘chickens’ lives. Emily liked Alvez and Lewis, but there wasn’t the same history there as with the others. 

And there was distance between her and JJ now, though neither of them had ever discussed _why._ It was painful because Emily trusted JJ with her life and respected her as a profiler. JJ was the one who kept her sane while she was chasing after Ian Doyle. She was Emily’s confidante, and part of the triumvirate of girlishness who drank too much wine at Garcia’s place and hatched schemes together. But Emily didn’t want to get close enough to _see_ anything in JJ now – any subtle change or veiled insinuation – any hint of Reid in her life. She wouldn’t be able to stop herself from pulling those hints apart in her head. She resolutely did not want to know anything, and she didn’t trust JJ not to read that on her if she drifted closer. Emily was disappointed in her friends, and that was the worst part: to know that even with her checkered history, she was a judgmental hypocrite towards the people she loved, and she couldn’t find a way to rise above it. She ignored this shitty insight aggressively with Mendoza, getting less out of that relationship than she’d hoped, but, hell, you had to start addressing your needs at some point, didn’t you?

The year had widened the expanse between her and Reid even more. He kept his word and never came to her with personal issues again, but that meant that he never came to her with anything, period. No more movie nights, or _Doctor Who_ marathons, or book fairs on the weekends. Just work and muted professionalism. She shut down the part of her mind that wanted to leap to the conclusion that he’d made his choice, and that choice meant _everything_ was off limits to her now. It was the same part of her that was afraid to get close enough to see something in JJ – she just couldn’t. He did his job, he was appropriately friendly during business hours, but ultimately distant. Honestly, it should’ve made leaving a hell of a lot easier. 

When the time came, she tried to avoid a going-away party, but Garcia pouted, and then enlisted Rossi for help, and in the end, it was simpler to suffer one last team outing in Dave’s backyard than to explain to all of them why she’d prefer to just quietly slip out of town.

“You okay, bella?” Rossi sidled up beside her with a full glass of scotch in hand and a sentimental twinkle in his eye. “You’ve done this before, so I’m wondering if I should just keep the bunting up for your welcome home party…”

He smirked, and she shone it back at him in spades. He chuckled into his drink and ignored her lethal glare entirely.

“Hysterical. I can see why so many women have married you.”

“And left me.” He made a sloppy ba-dum-ching gesture while offering her a lop-sided grin. “I’ve heard the end of that joke before. Krystal promises me she hasn’t married me for my humor _this time_. I’m serious about the question though. Are you okay?”

“It’s a six-figure salary, and an office in Manhattan. No more seventy-hour work weeks, or pedantic federal paperwork, or crazed psychopaths lurking in the undergrowth. What about that isn’t okay?” 

She sighed into her chardonnay as she watched Garcia pretend that Henry was beating her high score in Candy Crush on her phone.

“I didn’t ask if _it_ was okay…” Rossi countered, and she rolled her eyes at him indulgently.

“I’m fine, this time. I swear. I tried the captain’s chair for a while and found I didn’t like it. That’s all there is to it. Honestly, I have no idea why Hotch hung onto it for so long. It’s a giant pain in the ass.”

“It suited him, I guess,” Rossi mused.

“Not you though, huh?”

“God no!” he laughed, and it made her do the same. “Can you imagine how many times OPR would’ve investigated me? I’m not a very good company man.”

She let their amusement fade, and then turned to look at him critically. “So, why are you giving me the gears about this?”

“I just want to make sure you’re not running this time.”

She sighed. “I’m middle-aged, Dave. Of course, I’m running from something. You carry around the kind of baggage we do, you can’t help that after a while. But I’m running towards a change – something good. I’m just restless. There isn’t some psychologically-damaging nightmare nipping at my heels or anything.”

“Hmmmm,” was all he offered. 

She turned away from him and sighed. He’d believe what he wanted, and there was nothing she could do to convince him otherwise. Across the lawn, Alvez had snuck up behind Garcia and Henry, and then said something that caused Garcia’s face to turn scarlet while Henry cackled and fell off his lawn chair. Penelope loudly declared, “Oh, it’s _ON_ , sir! Prepare for battle!”, and Emily assumed a Candy Crush duel-to-the-death was about to commence. She chuckled to herself as she thought that Alvez didn’t stand a chance and he knew it. She wondered why he loved provoking her so much. Even Morgan had better sense than that.

“I’ll miss the people,” she mumbled absently, trying to limit the faces flickering through her mind. “Not the job.”

“They’ll miss you. All of them. You don’t have any idea how much, do you?” he asked.

“You’ve been gone for a year, Dave,” she downed the last of her wine in a gulp. “Things have changed.”

“Not that much,” he grumbled. “I can see Garcia’s struggling to seem happy for you, and that Tara is quietly worried about what’s next. JJ knows it’s useless to argue with you, but she’s still subdued about it. And Reid’s doing his very best to stay as far away from you as he can. You couldn’t possibly have missed how much this is getting to him…”

Emily snorted softly. Rossi was right but for the wrong reasons, and she had no intention of correcting him.

“They’ll all recover,” she said quietly, thinking about another glass of wine. Or six. “Eventually, we all get tangled up in our individual dramas. It’s time to get back to mine.” She glanced at him. “And it’s New York City, not Reykjavik. They can come visit. Even you.” She winked.

Rossi smiled tiredly at her, as if he’d had enough of this low-level game they both knew they were playing with each other. “Sure,” he said warmly, and entirely unconvinced.

The expression made her uncomfortable enough that she excused herself to get more wine and didn’t breathe easily again until she made it to the bar. Then things tensed back up almost immediately.

“Hey.” 

It was soft and hesitant next to her, and she resisted the urge to close her eyes and wish that she’d agreed to attend this damned party, but then headed straight for Dulles airport instead.

“Hey.” 

She turned to face Reid and gave him a friendly smile. As expected.

“So… uh, when do you actually leave?”

His gaze was worried, almost bashful like it had been when they first met. She guessed they really had reverted to being strangers again. His hair was growing out, a bit floppier and sillier than usual which paradoxically made him look older, as if he didn’t give a damn about what people thought. His suit was new and fit him well. She didn’t recognize it, and she wondered if he had others, and whom he was buying them for, and why, and then she shut that line of inquiry down so hard it almost made her twitch.

“Later tonight,” she huffed, and poured some wine. “After this.”

“Oh… uh… that soon. Wow.”

“Pendleton wanted me in New York the day after I signed the contract, but I managed to talk them into two weeks. They’re a little intense about getting what they want. That Mergers & Acquisitions mentality, you know…”

“I can’t believe you’re leaving us to be head of security for _a bank_ …” he grumbled.

She sighed into her wineglass and didn’t look at him. “Please tell me you didn’t come over here to pass judgment on my choices. I’d rather we just _didn’t._ ” It was out of her before she could stop it, and she immediately wished she’d said something different. “And it’s not a bank. Although they do own a few.”

She looked up and he was staring at his hand on the bar around the stem of his wineglass, neutral and closed off. She sighed again, and he heard it, turning slowly to face her, waiting.

“I don’t want to leave angry,” she said honestly, pushing her wine away thinking that booze probably wouldn’t help here. “It’s just… time, okay? Time for me to go. What I do next is kinda beside the point. It’s the change that’s important.”

“Why?” he asked so softly it made her stutter a little that a single word could hold so many things at once.

“Well… there are quite a few reasons. One is that I’m tired. Tired of the drama and danger – it seems like all we do is leap from one crisis to the next, like a bad tv show or something…” 

She gave him a smile, but he didn’t bite, just watching her intensely instead. 

“Another reason is I just don’t like being Chief. I thought I would. I enjoyed it at Interpol. But when I got here, I found it… hollow somehow. I mean, I worked my whole career for an opportunity like running the BAU, but it doesn’t really fit me. A helluva realization when you think about it. I’m surprised it hasn’t messed me up more than this, to be honest.”

He started blinking, and she realized he was considering her statement, wondering if it was the truth or a line to throw him off. And she felt horrible knowing it was both and that he probably couldn’t tell the difference anymore. Eventually, his spine slouched, and he leaned against the bar.

“I always thought you belonged here…” he murmured, and her heart took an extra-long break between one beat and the next. “But you know yourself and what you need, I suppose.”

“Yes, I do,” she said with less confidence than she intended.

He stared at her for a long time as the party bubbled around them. She heard Garcia razz Alvez, and Henry calling out to his brother to “come watch Aunt Penny smack a bitch”. Then JJ’s voice could be clearly heard from across the yard, “Henry LaMontagne, WHAT did you just say?” Reid twitched visibly at the sound. He shuffled a step closer, but there was still six feet between them, and his hand left his glass to begin picking at the edge of the bar.

“Just… tell me that none of your reasons for leaving have to do with me. Or with Jen.”

Jen. Not JJ. _Stop. Quit thinking about it._

“I’m leaving for me. Just me.”

_It’s well past time to find my story. I’m tired of living in yours._

He didn’t say anything to that, just thinning his lips to a tight, white line instead. Then she decided that if she didn’t end this well, she might never find her story at all. So, she took three quick steps forward and grabbed his hand lightly in hers.

“Listen… I should’ve said this a year ago, but I didn’t because I was too shocked, I guess…”

Reid’s eyes widened dramatically.

“You deserve to be happy, Spencer. You do. And don’t let anyone convince you that you don’t. Not even me.”

She watched carefully as his expression changed. His surprise washed away almost instantly and was replaced by an odd mix of relief and sadness. He was staring at her hand on his, and when she squeezed it, his eyes drifted back to hers.

“Whoever makes you happy… is whoever it is. It shouldn’t be up to anyone but you two. _You_ decide who you are, who you love, and how that’s gonna work out. I should’ve just told you this instead of what I did, even though what I said at the time was the truth. But this is also the truth, see? It isn’t a black and white situation.”

“Emily…” he murmured, lines pinching around his eyes.

“I want you to be happy, okay? But… be careful. That’s all I’m saying now. I’m no longer the boss and that’s my last, unwanted piece of advice.”

“Em?”

“Things got screwed up royally a year ago, and I don’t want to leave that way. I want you to know that I care about you, and no one is more sorely in need of a break in life than you. You’re a good man, and all I want to hear someday is that you got everything you wanted for yourself. It’s past due.”

“Emily.” His other hand reached out and grasped hers on the bar and held it too tightly. She jumped a little at the suddenness, but then she was distracted by his owlish expression and how his mouth opened and closed, as if he didn’t know how to use it.

“Is this… goodbye?” he choked as his gaze got frighteningly glassy.

Then her mouth fell open and seemed useless as well, with her pulse making it hard to breathe around her brain yelling, YES IT IS.

“C’mon, don’t be dramatic,” she shrugged casually, twisting her hand in both of his until he eased up, and then she shook him a little to reinforce how ridiculous he was being. “It’s a three-hour train ride. Jeez.”

“Okay, okay…” he breathed, and seemed to back away from the devastation he’d been flirting with. He even tried a smile on for size. “It’s just… the things you just said aren’t the sorta things you say every day. I guess it wound me up a bit.”

“Well, we won’t _see_ each other every day anymore, so maybe I wanted to clear a few things up before I left town.” She bent to catch his eye and then offered her best smirk, selling it like a champion.

_Shoulda just sent everyone an email and gone to the airport. Shoulda just been an asshole about it. This is so much worse._

“I’m glad you said what you did, Emily,” he murmured eventually, leaning a little closer and releasing his death-grip on her hand, though he still held it loosely in his. “It’s been hard for me, with this distance between us. I didn’t want to leave it like that either, but I didn’t know how to start the conversation.”

He lifted his free hand and watched it hesitate. Then he reached forward and curled it around her arm, slowly sliding the fingers down until they caught up her free hand in his. He stared at their laced fingers and worried his lip.

“I want us to get back to how we were, Em,” he said softly, still watching their hands. “That’s what this year has taught me. Maybe this move will be good for us that way as well.”

“Maybe,” she whispered back, and it earned her a hopeful smile from him that instantly made her feel terrible.

She pulled him close after a moment, his body stiff and awkward against her for an instant before he softened, his arms curling around her and his chin resting on her shoulder. She took a huge breath in and held it.

“Remember what I said, okay?” She let the breath go gently, ruffling his hair so it ended up tickling her cheek. Her hand rubbed a warm line up and down the back of suit jacket. “You’re a good guy.”

She tried to pull away, but he held her close, shuffling his grip and nuzzling further into her shoulder with a sigh that filled her with an electric urge to flee.

“I’ll miss you,” he murmured, and all she could do was close her eyes and nod her agreement against his neck. She’d miss this too; she already had for nearly a year. But they’d never get back to it again permanently. It was just a brief flicker now, in farewell, out of nostalgia and muscle memory. 

After another minute of silence that went on too long to be ignored, she extracted herself from him, with an emphatic smile plastered to her face and a promise to stay in touch that was 100% fiction. She couldn’t tell if he got that or not, and she decided that it was in no one’s best interests to figure that out.

She made another round at the party, smiling and joking as expected, she finished her glass of wine, and then she snuck out without fanfare, just as she’d wanted from the start. In the Uber on the way to the airport, her phone began to beep with the anticipated displeasure:

_Garcia: DID YOU REALLY JUST SNEAK OUT OF UR OWN PARTY????_

_Rossi: I’m keeping the balloons & party favors, just in case ;) _

_Lewis: I told JJ’s kids you’re on a McDonald’s run. They are expecting Happy Meals now…_

She deleted them all without responding, heart beating steadily as she did so. Then,

_Reid: Stay in touch. Promise?_

She deleted that as well, though her pulse raced, and her chest was tight about it long after her plane left the tarmac.

*END OF PART 1*


	4. Chapter 4

Living in Manhattan was everything she expected it to be: loud, chaotic, frustrating, demanding, energizing… And the job at Pendleton was a welcome surprise as well. She had a grand office with a spectacular view. She ran a team of a hundred security specialists spread out over the continental U.S. Though she no longer interrogated perps or engaged in elaborate manhunts, she still travelled to deal with issues in other states, still kept up her law enforcement contacts, and still occasionally made a corporate spy or an activist hacker wet themselves with her ability to outflank them. The wins were smaller, more self-interested, but she found them no less satisfying, and that shocked the hell out of her. Also, the money was absolutely ridiculous.

She found herself slowly but surely sinking into _a life._ Going to the theater when she felt like it, or eating out whenever a new place caught her eye. She became addicted to running in Central Park, even in the winter or at night – almost daring some lowlife to try and take her down. She tried yoga and hated it, then she found a place that taught Krav Maga and loved it. She even picked up a few friends along the way. Not soul-sharing intimates or anything, but people enjoyable enough for a brunch here or a night out at a bar there. It took a lot for Emily to open up, and she knew that, but the baby steps were happening, and in just six months. She looked back over that time and felt quietly proud of the risks she was taking. Starting over was beginning to feel like the right thing.

Emily’s old life was still out there. She got emails and phone calls from the team regularly in the beginning, and they slowly tapered off as her responses became lazier. Part of her wondered if she was doing it purposefully – her anxiety always spiked a little when she saw an email from the Bureau in her inbox or a missed call from a Quantico extension on her phone. Old habits. It was just easier to blame her distance on the demands of the new job and, well, _the distance._ She didn’t want to hang around and watch formerly-fulfilling friendships peter out into bi-monthly updates on her pals’ lives with the odd candid photo thrown in for interest. To her, nothing was sadder than watching someone fade away into insignificance, and she didn’t want to participate in that, or _be_ the person who faded for others. Better to make a clean break, she thought. 

By the end of the first year, most of those old connections had been lost to attrition. Alvez contacted her exactly once and then never again. Rossi emailed once and called a handful of times, usually on holidays. Morgan called once or twice, having heard about her departure from Garcia, but that friendship had already dimmed when he moved back to Chicago. JJ sent photos of Henry and Michael, but never anything of substance, and Will was conspicuously absent from the pictures, which Emily was unwilling to comment on. 

Lewis was surprisingly persistent, reaching out almost weekly – sometimes with work stuff and sometimes just to bitch a little. The new Chief was a formidable woman who used to run the fugitive task force department in the New York office, and even though Lewis thought she was a good choice to replace Emily, she often contacted Emily to get her opinion on decisions and details Lewis wasn’t sure about. _That choice_ was unanticipated, and Emily felt that she might have missed something with Lewis while she was busy focusing on her older connections in the unit. So, she always ended up answering Lewis’s emails without the hangover that she got from the others; unlike them, Lewis seemed happy to have something casual, and she was easy to hold onto. It was an adaptability Emily appreciated more now that so many of her old friendships were breaking apart.

Garcia was the most difficult to negotiate. She just showed up at Emily’s condo one day and bunked down in the guest room for a week without warning.

“Honestly, Blackbird, did you think I’d give up so easily? I think I’m offended. Wait, let me check… Yeah, I’m offended by that.”

Emily chuckled as she made them coffee in her spacious kitchen. “Sorry, P. But I’ve done this before. Both when I was a kid and in my professional life. Sometimes it’s easier to let things be what they were meant to be and not drag shit out to the painful end.”

Garcia sat up straighter and frowned. “Well, I am not one of those _things_. Though I happily admit that I’m not easy either.”

Emily laughed again in agreement and Garcia cracked a smile through her umbrage.

“I’m gonna stick like hell, and I don’t care if that’s troublesome. Hooray for trouble! Trouble is worth it – I mean, you wouldn’t shake off Reid, and he’s a lot more trouble than I am, isn’t he?” Garcia crossed her arms over her chest, confident that she’d bulletproofed her reason for being there. “Face it, you love us troublesome peeps… me and Skinny McGenius.”

Emily did not react to his name, just pouring their coffee and setting out sugar and cream. She did not tell Garcia that she hadn’t heard from Reid in three months. She didn’t mention that he’d called and texted and emailed persistently for ages after she left, and she responded less and less until finally he sent a message that simply read: _What have I done wrong? Please talk to me._ She didn’t admit to Garcia that she’d erased that last text and cried over it – that shutting him out of her life was the only way she thought she’d ever get past what had been to something better. Emily just slid Garcia’s coffee to her across the counter with a pleasant smile instead.

Garcia sipped it and rolled on without suspicion. “Speaking of Dr. Reid, I think something has happened between him and JJ. I dunno what… but things are just _different_ somehow. I can’t put my finger on it. Has he mentioned anything to you?”

And that, right there, was why Emily had to cut Reid off. The air left her chest with a tremendous squeeze and it didn’t come back until she told herself, _great things that cause you pain maybe aren’t as great as you thought._

“We don’t talk much anymore,” she mumbled against the rim of her mug. Garcia’s eyebrows lifted above her glasses.

“Really?”

Emily shrugged, as if she could take it or leave it.

“Well then, I guess I got here just in time,” Garcia said warily. “Because if you can break up with your bestie, you can break up with anyone.”

Emily blinked. _Bestie?_

“I’m not letting go without a fight,” Garcia continued.

“Well… I guess that makes _you_ the bestie, doesn’t it?” Emily countered quietly and unfairly. Reid hadn’t disappeared through lack of effort. But Garcia smirked back.

“Damn straight. Now, can we go down to Hell’s Kitchen so I can find me my own real-life Matt Murdock and tell him I’ll rinse out his tights and kiss his boo-boos no matter what sort of vigilante b.s. he gets into? He could use an FBI agent girlfriend.”

Emily rolled her eyes to cover how unsettled she felt. “You know that’s a comic book, right?”

“Semantics,” Garcia waved it away and grabbed her coat.


	5. Chapter 5

A month after Garcia’s visit, Emily made a reluctant friend that absolutely had _nothing to do with Reid._ Though it would be pointed out later, loudly and by many, that her blindness in this matter was stubborn and willful. This guy was skinny and scruffy, with an air of persistent unwantedness that got under her skin and wouldn’t let her walk away. He also took to her immediately, which was annoying.

“Don’t look at me that way. I’m not in the market for more friends at the moment. I’m busy. I have _a life_.”

He looked back at her silently, his brown eyes impossibly wide and trusting, and he started to shiver.

“C’mon, man. That’s emotional blackmail right there, and we don’t even _know_ each other! Where do you get the balls to try that? I’m not interested, so just… go away.”

She took off down the jogging path but the insistent click-click-click followed keeping pace with her no matter how fast she tried to run. She made it halfway around the basin before she gave in, turned around, and found the spotted, emaciated mutt loping behind her, sides heaving from the effort.

“Go home. Quit following me.”

The dog sat down and cocked his head to one side with interest.

“Alright, so, maybe you don’t have a home to go back to. Given how skinny you are… So, don’t go home. But don’t follow me either, okay?”

The dog stood up and wagged his tail enthusiastically.

“No, I said DON’T follow me.”

More wagging happened, and those eyes were killing her. And it was cold as fuck in the park that day. She started jogging in place just to keep her body temperature up. Then she fumbled around in her coat pocket, wondering what to do to turn a stray away, and her fingers found a half-eaten protein bar. Then she did something unbelievably stupid.

“Listen, I can give you something to eat, okay? But that’s it.” She had no idea if you could feed protein bars to dogs or not, but she pulled it out and showed it to the mangy black and white mutt at her feet. “Do you want this?”

The dog blinked, and slowly raised a paw. Then he sat down, rocked back on his hindquarters, and sat up like a fascinated meerkat.

“Well, _that’s_ ridiculously adorable…” she grumbled and held the bar out. The dog leaned up, still balanced on his butt, and gently took the food from her hand before leaping away a few feet to wolf it down. He watched her over his shoulder as he ate, and then twenty seconds later, he raced back to her, bouncing around, tail wagging and barking happily.

“No, man, no. This doesn’t mean… jesus…” she sighed as he continued jumping around her, waiting on the next thing they’d do together. “I’m leaving.”

She took off again, this time faster than she wanted, but the dog followed her, sometimes racing at her side, and sometimes behind her feet. She lapped the basin again, and then headed up to the Central Park stables. It was a much longer run than she was used to, and soon her calves ached and her sides hurt. But the dog was still shadowing her. She headed to the park exit that was close to her condo, and then turned to face her unwanted companion.

“Okay, here’s the deal, dude. I’m sprinting home. I’m not stopping for lights or traffic or nothin’, got it?” She pointed at the dog. “ _If_ you can keep up and, like, don’t get run over by a cab or something, you can crash at my place for the night. One night, mind you. I’m not set up for pets.”

The dog wagged his tail furiously, still breathing too hard, but eager for the new game she was proposing. She shrugged and turned towards the park exit, taking off at a sprint with the dog barking behind her. Ten blocks and several near-misses with New York traffic later, Emily was bent over at the entrance to her building, fighting off a vicious runner’s stitch with her new houseguest barking and chasing his tail in front of her. She realized she should’ve known better – she gave him a protein bar, after all.

Their reluctant friendship was cemented by a bath when Emily realized that he smelled like garbage and was riddled with fleas. Then she had to delouse and clean herself when he transferred both to her. She gave him leftovers from the fridge, not knowing if dogs liked four-day-old Chinese food or not, and though she sacrificed a fuzzy blanket for him to lay on in the living room, he hopped up on her designer couch and snuggled against her smelling like expensive body wash and refusing to be moved.

“Fuck, man, you are super pushy. It’s not attractive, you know.”

The dog rolled onto his back, feet in the air, and licked her arm in thanks.

“It’s just for tonight,” she murmured, scratching his scruff and smiling when his back leg twitched in response. Then he farted and promptly went to sleep. “Great. So classy.”

When she woke the next morning, on the sofa, sore from her run and from the evening spent draped under a dog, it was the coldest day in Manhattan’s history. The news stated four homeless people had already been found frozen to death. She watched the dog as he stalked one of the brave New York pigeons who made it to her thirty-second-floor balcony and walked the railing like a steelworker. She could drop him off at a shelter, or place an ad for a home for him online or something… He barked at the window and it echoed throughout her place. Her condo was big and stylish, and barely broken in at all even after a year of use. The pigeon turned and faced the dog in a bored way from the other side of the glass. He growled and sat down, getting comfortable for the standoff. Emily sighed. It could’ve been worse. He could’ve been an unwanted _man_ who wouldn’t get lost…

“Who wants breakfast?” she asked, and _that’s_ how she got a room mate.

He didn’t get a name until a week later at a vet’s office when the office assistant created a file for him.

“Cute little fella. What’s his name?”

Emily had been calling him Dog, but that wouldn’t do. The vet people would cast aspersions if she continued doing that. And since Dog was busy charming everyone within licking range with his befuddlement and affection and scrawny weirdness…

“He’s really into you. Follows you everywhere, huh?” The vet tech continued.

“That’s his name: Follow,” Emily decided.

“Fitting,” the tech chuckled and entered the name into the database, making it official.

The vet was similarly charmed by Follow, cooing at him like an infant, when he rolled over and showed his belly in the exam room. Emily was a little mortified that Follow was better with people than she was.

“What a champ,” the vet said. “Who could abandon such a great guy? People are terrible. We don’t deserve the love animals give us…”

Emily didn’t know what to say to that, but then the vet looked her in the eye.

“So, do you want to good news or the bad news?”

“There’s good and bad news?” Emily stuttered, not knowing how she felt about that.

“Well, the good news is he’s remarkably healthy for a stray. He’s underweight, but otherwise he’s fit as a fiddle. Have you noticed any emotional issues? Is he aggressive or territorial in any way? Is he weird about food?”

“Uh, no. I mean, I don’t think so. I haven’t noticed.” She felt like an incompetent dog-mom. “I’d notice that, wouldn’t I? I can’t keep him off the furniture, if that’s a warning sign…”

The vet laughed. “Get used to it. From what I can tell he’s a Jack Russell/Border Collie mix. That’s part of the bad news: both those breeds are intelligent and high energy. You’re gonna have to run yourself ragged to keep him occupied. And he’ll be impossible to keep off the furniture. Better just settle on that now.”

“Oh.” Great.

“But the flip side to that is they are loyal, affectionate, and job-oriented. Give him something to do, and he’ll love you for it.”

Follow rolled over and looked at Emily. Then he popped up and half-climbed her from where he sat on the exam table to lick her face.

“Oh, Follow, c’mon man… _make-up…_ ”

“It doesn’t look like love is gonna be an issue for you two,” the vet grinned. “It’s a wonderful thing you’re doing Ms. Prentiss. Most people won’t consider adopting a dog that’s over a year old.”

“How old is he?” Emily asked as she tried to wrangle Follow’s affection.

“A few years at least. Did his best on his own, but life’s always easier with back-up, isn’t it?”

Emily looked at Follow and massaged his floppy, broken ears as he panted happily and stared at her. She couldn’t have agreed more, in general that is. So, she smiled and congratulated herself on picking up yet another stray in her life. _I’m your back-up from now on, buddy, and you’re mine. That’s your job, okay?_


	6. Chapter 6

Follow quickly became her most important relationship, as well as the most aggravating one. The vet hadn’t lied when she said Follow would need a purpose, and Emily realized that his separation anxiety was far more acute than she thought when she came home one evening to discover the dog bed and toys she’d bought him had been shredded and the remnants festooned around her apartment. He sat in the middle of the disaster, tail wagging and head cocked to the side as he barked his welcome to her.

“Fuck, Follow. Fuck!”

He trailed her obediently as she spent the next hour cleaning up after him.

He also refused to be caged at night, howling mournfully and ceaselessly until she caved and released him with a gust of vindictive swearing that he ignored in favor of dancing around her feet.

“Go to fucking sleep, Follow. And don’t eat anything,” she growled before she shut the bedroom door on him. He was quiet for five minutes before he started whining and clawing at the door between them. “Fuck off, dog!” she bellowed, but the clawing continued in intensity and volume. Forty-five minutes later, she caved again, swinging the door wide as Follow raced through and bounded onto her bed with joy.

“If I’d wanted this much grief, I’d have had a child, you know…” She stumbled back to the bed and got into a pushing match with him for the covers. “Or a husband. At least you can divorce a guy. What the hell am I supposed to do with _your_ useless ass?”

Follow circled five times quickly and then settled onto the pillow next to her with a contented sigh. He was asleep within minutes, apparently exhausted from his efforts to attain his human’s bedroom, and then farted for good measure. Emily rolled away and swore. In the morning she’d realize that she’d have to replace the bedroom door, but also that she’d curled herself around him in the night and that it wasn’t the worst feeling to wake up warm and wanted.

But the living arrangement remained stressful as she tried to anticipate what he needed and then dreaded coming home to find that she’d failed again, and Follow had destroyed some furniture or eaten one of her shoes or that the next door neighbor left another angry note about the noise.

“I don’t know what to do,” she sighed to the vet over the phone one day as she watched building maintenance drag her chewed armchair to the service elevator for disposal. “He’s destroying everything.”

“I told you, Ms. Prentiss, he needs a job. Give him something to do. The bad behaviour is him trying to communicate with you.”

“Isn’t _not_ blowing up the apartment a job?” she snarked, glaring at him where he sat happily watching her.

“No,” the vet chuckled unsympathetically. “Think. When is he happiest?”

Emily considered that. “When we run together. Or when we wander through the neighborhood. Even when we’re watching Netflix, he’s calmer.”

“There’s your answer,” the vet said smugly.

“What answer? I can’t have him with me all the time. I work!”

“So? Take him to work. Lots of people do that now. Or consider a dog sitter during the day. He’s been alone for a long time and he knows he doesn’t like it. He’s found someone he likes so, naturally, he wants to spend all of his time with you. It’s not that hard to figure out.”

“But… what about boundaries… and rules?” she sputtered into the phone.

“Dog training is an aggregation of compromises, at best,” the vet sighed. “He’s made his preferences known, now you have to see what you can live with. Good luck, Ms. Prentiss. Let me know if you need a referral to a doggy daycare facility or something.”

Emily tossed her phone onto the couch and glared at Follow. His ears drooped a little.

“Don’t do that,” she grumbled. “Don’t try and make me feel sorry for your loneliness. Life is hard, man. I’m not here to solve all your problems, you know. You’ve got a warm, safe place to live, plenty of food, lots of walks and exercise…”

Follow shuffled forward hesitantly until he’d crawled within reach of the couch.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do for you on top of that.”

He watched her carefully, and then wiggled across the floor until he could gently bump his head against her calf.

“Stop it, man. Quit it with the cuteness. I’m being serious right now. We’ve gotta sort this out.”

He looked up sorrowfully, and then licked her knee.

“I love you too, okay?” she mumbled as she massaged one of his ears. “This isn’t about love. You’ve gotta find a way to be your own guy when I’m not around. Without destroying stuff. I mean, I’ve had to learn to be my own woman, without other people…”

Follow gave her a doubtful look.

“Thanks for the confidence boost, buddy. Cheers,” she snarked, and then sighed. “Okay, well, how about a run, and we’ll revisit this later?”

He leapt into her lap and barked, then he scooted over the back of the sofa and barked his way to the front door and the lead he never let her attach to him.

“I guess that’s a yes…”

In the same way that they fell backwards into belonging to one another, they fell into finding Follow’s purpose. Emily found a dog sitter in the neighborhood but Follow still shook violently when Emily dropped him off every morning before work. She’d trudge into her office and feel guilty for an hour about it until some work detail dragged her focus away. But when she retrieved him in the afternoons, he’d be over the moon to see her again, barking and rappelling off her legs as he bounced with joy. The service said he was good, but shy with other dogs, far more entranced with the human workers than those of his own species. _So, he’s a lonely guy,_ she thought, and felt a greater kinship with him as a result.

Running in Central Park with Emily became Follow’s primary interest, and his enthusiasm meant that she was far fitter than she needed to be. She ran farther and faster just to burn off his energy, and they both ended up like champion greyhounds from it. Emily had been fortunate – she’d lived in New York for almost two years and hadn’t had a brush with the seedier side of the city, though she’d been spoiling for one from the beginning. But when the inevitable happened, it caught her off guard and she shamefully hesitated. 

The guy had been trailing them around the basin but couldn’t match their pace. She and Follow had gotten a late start, and now the sun was setting as well as the temperature, clearing out the sometimes-joggers and the wandering tourists as the park’s lights flicked on and the gloaming made everything flat and difficult to recognize. They’d lapped the guy three times already; Emily didn’t even think about it. When they made what she decided would be their final pass down into the overgrown section of the path before sprinting to the street exit, she couldn’t remember seeing the guy. Follow’s nails click-click-clicked just behind her in a steady, unhurried rhythm and her breath ghosted before her eyes telling her how cooler it was than when they began. There was a rustling off to the side of the path, only slightly heard over their footfalls and breathing, and when she turned to check, he was on her, knocking the wind from her and then sending her hips and back smashing into the pathway beneath them. There was almost no warning.

His knee jabbed into her hip and he forced all of his weight into it until she yelped. Then his hands gasped her wrists and bunched them together above her head as she started to thrash. With her wrists held by one of his hands, his free one flashed away and quickly brought a knife to her throat with the telltale snick of the released blade. Follow was barking, but she couldn’t see him. It was all happening in fast forward.

“Shut up or I’ll cut you,” he breathed, hard and wet against her cheek, his body slamming down on hers to stop her thrashing.

No way that was going to happen. She pivoted her hips, throwing his balance off enough that she got a leg almost free, then she kneed up as hard as she could, catching him with a glancing blow that nevertheless surprised him.

“I’m an FBI agent,” she lied, twisting in his grip but with more freedom to her legs. Follow was barking hysterically, high and almost without pause. “You just bought yourself a world of hurt.”

“You ain’t nothing, bitch,” the guy wheezed angrily, just a shadow in his dark hoodie looming over her in the patchy light. “Just prey running around waiting to be taken. I’m taking you…”

She heaved again and shifted him, loosening his grip and allowing her to swing her elbows, cuffing him across the chin. He reared back and yelled, then he released her wrists and slugged her hard enough that she couldn’t do anything but blink for a few seconds. When she came back to herself, he was fumbling with the drawstring of his sweats and waving the switchblade at her.

“Tell that animal to shut up or I’ll gut him too,” he commanded, pointing the blade in Follow’s direction.

It was the opening she needed. Emily laced her hands together and swung, hitting him in the side of the head like a mace while his attention was split. He yowled and turned back to her, drawing the knife down on her, and then Follow was on him, fangs sunk deep into the guy’s hand as he screamed and rolled away from her, punching the dog frantically.

Emily scrambled to her feet, vision woozy from the blow to her face. But then the asshole kicked Follow in the chest, hard, and the whine of pain he made as he released the attacker’s hand and tumbled away activated her. She kidney-punched him, bringing him to his knees, and then she grabbed his head and smashed it face-first into the pavement. The guy moaned, and she repeated the assault, kicking him vindictively in the balls to keep him down. She snatched up his knife and whipped out her phone, dialing 911 an instant before she scrambled over to Follow lying hunched on the path. The call rang as she kneeled beside her four-legged back-up, hand flicking over him as he whined and blinked at her.

“You kicked my _fucking dog?_ ” she yelled over her shoulder at the guy spread out on the pathway just as the emergency operator picked up. “Yeah, I’ve just been attacked on the jogger’s path in Central Park. The lower basin. The suspect is down, and I need some cops and EMS for this asshole.” 

Follow licked her hand as she grumbled more details to the operator. When she looked back to him, he weakly wagged his tail at her and sat up with a whine. Emily’s eyes pricked and she swallowed as Follow nudged her again, panting almost happily in a sort of _we showed him, huh?_ way. Her fingers found his scruff and sunk into it with a new appreciation, making his tail wag harder.

“Stupid dog,” she mumbled away from the phone, and smiled at him, all bruised and victorious. “Thanks for having my back, buddy.”

Follow got to his feet tenderly, and then licked Emily’s face, which she hated but allowed because, yeah, he’d earned the right. She shuffled so she could sit next to him and threw her arm over his back. They watched the would-be rapist on the pavement until New York’s finest arrived, Follow with his back and tail stiff, his hackles up and a low-level growl rumbling from him. He’d found his purpose, and though he didn’t seem like the heroic-defender type, Emily was fine with that job description for him.


	7. Chapter 7

The last thing to click into place for Emily in New York was her personal life. She hadn’t been eager to ‘put herself out there’ in her fifties anymore than she had at any other time in her life, and for the first few years, nothing more significant than a few casual dates and hook-ups happened. It was very typically _her._ Her work kept her busy enough, and she honestly preferred Follow’s company to any man she’d met thus far. 

In short, she wasn’t looking around when Rick sauntered into the Pendleton boardroom one spring morning, all brash confidence and a certain level of leashed violence that always caught her eye. He owned a small private security firm that was bidding for a subcontract with Pendleton’s European branch, and she was part of the preliminary vetting process. His presentation was convincing, and he was a magnetic frontman – something that Emily tried to push aside to remain objective. But she knew halfway through the Q&A that the board wouldn’t select him; he had a restless uncertainty about him that made the room tense. It was the sort of behavior marker that she was intimately familiar with, and she felt a twinge of regret that it would cost him the job. As the meeting broke up, he walked up to her with his winning smile and undimmed confidence. She wondered if he was fronting, or bad at reading the room.

“I wanted to introduce myself personally, Ms. Prentiss.” He held out his hand. “Enrique Somes. But everyone calls me Rick. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Emily took his hand in hers, and took in his dark eyes, the way he capably filled out a suit, and his interest in someone clearly ten years older than him, and she sighed inwardly. He fell neatly into a type she could safely handle.

“Nice to meet you,” she said. “Your presentation was compelling.”

“I hope so. Our company is eager to broaden its horizons,” he grinned and held her hand a moment too long before letting it go.

Hmmm. Yes, there was no disguising his enthusiasm. 

“Well, that won’t be up to me, you realize. I’m just one voice among many. Ultimately, Pendleton EU will select the winning bid.”

“Regardless, I wanted to meet you, and I’m sure your opinion carries weight. A decade spent as an FBI profiler comes with a certain gravitas.”

Emily stiffened, but Rick just beamed his most winning smile.

“You checked up on me,” she said.

Rick chuckled and tried to look abashed. “Not just you. Everyone at this interview today. Due diligence an’ all. But your CV was really fascinating. FBI, NSA, Interpol…”

Emily sighed, exhausted by the constant misinterpretation of her career. It was never as glamorous as everyone thought.

“And you worked undercover too,” Rick persisted.

“Yes.” Emily packed up her laptop without paying him much attention. “For a few years.”

“That’s intense. I’ve never managed more than a few months at a stretch. Though I have guys who’ve been under for a long time.” Rick fixed her with a look of concentration designed to flatter her with his undivided interest. “Why’d you give it up? I mean, corporate security is a very different animal.”

“I wanted to grow old.” She flicked him a dangerous smile. “Cover gigs shorten your lifespan considerably.”

Rick didn’t take the warning, and instead took a step closer, leaned his hip against the meeting table and lowered his voice to something quieter and conspiratorial. “You don’t miss it? Being your own master? Making up the rules as you go?”

Emily smiled; that was Rick in a nutshell. It was amazing how quickly people revealed themselves if you just let them talk…

“Sometimes,” she murmured, flicking her eyes over him and imagining Rick’s lawlessness in bed. His smile got bigger, as if a gamble had paid dividends. “But only sometimes.”

“Maybe I could buy you dinner and we could trade stories some time.”

“That wouldn’t be appropriate while you are being considered for a contract, Rick.” Emily lifted her chin in defiance. _How much do you want this? Or is it a game?_

Rick sighed heavily, but his grin remained. “Well, now I’m torn,” he murmured, fishing in his pocket and then pulling out a business card that he slid across the table to her. “But perhaps if I lose the bid, I’ll still have something to look forward to.”

Emily left the card on the table, watching Rick instead. He stood straight again and nodded at her with deference.

“I hope we meet again, Ms. Prentiss.”

“It’s Emily, Rick,” she said impulsively, and Rick grinned like a kid, leaving the boardroom with the same confidence he entered it with. Emily picked up his card and tucked it away. Just in case.

‘Just in case’ happened two months later. The bidding process had moved to the next phase and was out of her hands. She called his office on a whim, still feeling vaguely intrigued by him but not expecting anything. He returned her call later in the day with a warm, “I’m happy you called” and a renewed offer of dinner. She accepted and allowed herself to feel flattered, telling herself, _it’s just attraction and there’s nothing wrong with it._

He took her to a nice place – something fancy that he probably assumed she’d like – and he was attentive and charming, allowing the conversation to be balanced between them. He played it just right, she thought. They were going to end up in bed together – she already knew that – but his behavior meant that Emily was considering what _more_ she might expect from him. She hadn’t done that with anyone for a while.

They talked shop, politics and economics. He was sharper than she’d initially given him credit for being, and that automatically separated him from the likes of Mendoza and Mark, though his looks were eerily similar. She briefly wondered, _why this kind of man_ , and then stopped herself before she could ruin whatever was building between them. A profiler should never profile oneself, after all.

“So, do I pass muster?” he asked over dessert and the leftovers from their second bottle of wine.

She smiled at him, flushed but still in control, and she leaned closer over the table. “I’m too old for you.”

“What does age have to do with it?”

“Singleness at my age is a pretty big signifier,” she smirked. Rick smirked back.

“Maybe that’s exactly what I’m looking for. A woman who knows what she wants and doesn’t collapse into a man’s ambitions. You have your own life, and I have mine. I’m not looking to become someone’s everything. Running my business rules that out, even if it was something I wanted in the first place.”

“At least that’s honest.”

“On the level, Emily,” he leaned forward and dropped the smirk. “You get it – the business, the drive, all of it. And you’re smart, and sexy, and capable. Powerful women don’t scare me.”

Emily shook her head gently. “A powerful woman scares everyone. It’s just no longer acceptable to admit that.”

“So… what are you saying?” Rick looked lost for the first time all evening.

“I’m saying, don’t lie to me, Rick. Ever. About what’s happening here or whatever we make from it. We’ll be just fine if you can do that.”

Rick’s smile returned in spades, and it never really left him even when he laid her out and proved her theory about his capability in the bedroom. He was gentler than she thought he would be, but thorough, and when she woke the next day, she didn’t regret it at all. 

He called her the following day, and after that she called him. It spooled out pleasurably over weeks between them: dinners, night’s out, enjoyable company, and just enough intimacy. He began spending whole nights at her place, making her breakfast before they bustled off to their busy lives separately. He’d be gone on a project – absent for weeks – and then reappear, picking up where they left off. Neither of them asked any questions – their lives went along happily without one another until they came together once more. She’d call, and he’d come to her. They’d laugh and flirt and fuck, and it scratched Emily’s itch in all the right ways without any of the hangovers that dogged her previous attempts at something meaningfully casual. 

Follow was standoffish, but he didn’t put up a fuss over it. Rick laughed that he’d never had any pets growing up and maybe Follow could sense his lack of experience. Emily watched Follow retreat to his mostly-unused dog bed whenever Rick came over, and her gut tightened a little, as if her best friend didn’t approve. She shook away the unease telling herself, _it’s casual, he’ll get over it – I’m not looking to marry this guy or anything_. Later she’d wonder if Follow picked up on something she’d ignored somehow.

The Pendleton contract was decided, and Rick’s company didn’t get it. This didn’t surprise or bother Emily. Rick said he was fine with it, but he turned the conversation back to the choice more often than Emily felt was warranted. He sat up in bed one night, stroking lines over her skin and asked, “Did you vote against me?”

The heat from the room seemed to evaporate and the smell of them caught in Emily’s throat making her cough from its sudden closeness. 

“What difference does that make now?”

“It’s my livelihood, Emily. I’ve put everything I have into my business. It’s the most important thing in my life and this was a huge opportunity.”

She knew that was true. The only commitment he truly believed in was to the thing he created. And in that same breath, she knew that he’d do anything for it, including attacking anything that threatened it. _So much for liking powerful women,_ she thought, _just so long as they don’t get in the way._

“I told you, my voice was one of many. My opinion was in the minority. It didn’t effect the decision on your proposal, Rick.”

“And your opinion was?”

“I don’t want to discuss this,” she said firmly while staring him down in the dark. “Besides, you have plenty of projects on the books. You take off for one or another almost every week.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Rick sighed and sunk down into the bed. “But this one was a game-changer. I just wanted to know you believed in me. That’s all.”

They both lay there and stared at the ceiling. Emily still felt cold all over, but not much else. Disappointed, maybe.

“You don’t want me to believe in you. You just want me to tell you something to bolster your ego.” Her mouth tightened into a firm line. “I’m not your mother or your wife, Rick. I’m not a prop for your personality. You didn’t build this business off the opinions of others, right?”

He was quiet for a long time, then he rolled away from her. “Whatever.”

When she woke in the morning, he wasn’t there. She wondered if that was it, the end. But a week later he was back, as congenial and flirtatious as ever. She didn’t realize something had subtly changed until they found themselves having a lazy brunch in Soho on a sunny Sunday morning. He watched her, small smile across his lips, sipping his coffee and seemingly enjoying the view.

“You should dye your hair,” he said quietly from out of nowhere. “The grey is harsh, don’t you think? It ages you.”

Emily stiffened in her seat at the casualness of it, and how it unexpectedly sliced her contentment in half. She’d been going grey since she left the Bureau, and some time after the Central Park attack, she just stopped fighting it. Now, her darkness gave way to a sort of gun-metal grey with shocks of white that were startling and bold. She secretly loved it – like a new Emily Prentiss was emerging.

She watched Rick smile at her, like it was nothing, and lean back, closing his eyes and soaking up the sun while cradling his coffee. She didn’t say anything.

A few nights later, he stumbled them into her bedroom, focused and aroused with a new intensity, and his hands moved over her roughly. She leaned into it with anticipation – it wasn’t as if she didn’t enjoy a little force in bed. She shivered and called his name softly, threading it with eagerness, and he took it as permission. But when he climbed on top of her, pinning her wrists above her head too tightly and pressing his weight down on her until her breath came short, her arousal disappeared.

“Rick, ease up…”

His fingers tightened on her wrists and he scored her neck with his teeth. She twisted, and he gripped harder to still her.

“Rick… I’m serious.”

His mouth moved to her collarbones and he bit down too sharply.

“Hey!”

He pressed her forcefully into the mattress – a sort of wordless _quit it_ from his body. Then his mouth moved lower and bit her breast. Emily twitched making them both shift unsteadily. The bite would leave a mark, and there was no mistaking that she didn’t appreciate it.

“Stop. Right now.”

“Fuck, Emily, c’mon…” Rick growled, licking the sting of his bite and trying to spread her wide with his knee as he pinned her. “Want you hard. Just… give it up…”

“Get off me, Rick,” she said loudly, wiggling vigorously under his weight. “I’m not into this. You hear me?”

His weight didn’t ease up, so she tangled her legs with his and used her hips to roll them both onto their sides. He huffed in surprise and she yanked their hands down between them so he couldn’t lever them back into a power struggle. Then she glared at him.

“Let. Me. Go. Now.”

His hands relaxed on her wrists and she pushed him away as she rolled backwards out of the bed until she was standing looking down at him. His chest was moving noticeably, and he blinked up at her as if he couldn’t understand what just happened.

“Emily…” He reached for her after an awkward moment.

“What the hell was that?”

“I just thought… figured we’d change it up a little. You’ve never objected to a little force before.”

“That wasn’t force. It wasn’t playful. That was you taking what you wanted out on me. ‘Just give it up’???”

“Uh, sorry. Poor phrasing…”

“It’s not the phrasing I object to, Rick,” she said pointedly. “I mean, Christ… do you even _like_ me at this point?”

“Of course I like you…”

“I don’t really think you do. I think the moment I didn’t champion you or your contract bid, I fell into some sort of enemy camp in your mind. But I’m an enemy that you’d fuck.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Emily.” Rick wrestled himself into a sitting position. “What the hell do you want from me? Aren’t we just fucktoys to each other in the first place? Wasn’t that the plan all along? Do you want me to start treating this like it’s going somewhere beyond that? Because you can’t have it both ways: wanting me to care about your feelings while you sandbag mine-”

“Sandbag your feelings? Because I didn’t tell you were God’s-gift when Pendleton didn’t award you the contract?”

“Yeah, Emily, a little,” Rick growled and sat up straighter. “That was kinda insulting. You didn’t even bat an eyelash, and this is my whole life.”

“When, exactly, did I transition from casual fling to your soul source of validation?” Emily hissed and leaned closer, hands on her hips, ignoring her nudity entirely. “Grow up, Rick. Who knew you were so goddamned fragile?”

“Screw you, Emily!”

“I think the ship has sailed on that one,” she snarked and heard Follow barking from the living room. Obviously, their volume had increased. “The moment you held me down and expected me to be a receptacle for your identity, we were done.”

Rick sat there and vibrated dangerously for a full minute. “Which way did you fucking vote, Emily?” he hissed.

Emily took another step towards the bed.

“I voted _for_ you, Rick. You’re young, ambitious, and just the right mix of morally-grey and business-savvy. It’s actually a rare combination in the private security world – it’s usually one or the other. An outfit like yours would’ve been eager to please and willing to do almost anything to prove that. But that’s where the rest of the board got caught up on you.”

Emily hesitated a moment and Rick’s silhouette lost some of its sharpness.

“Pendleton is an investment entity – they measure all things through a lens of risk versus reward. And your very ambition made you unpredictable. That, along with your modest experience at the level you were bidding for, made you seem like too much of an unknown to the voting group. You never made it to the next level of the process, Rick, because you didn’t do the most basic intelligence play from the start: recon the terrain before you get into a firefight. You didn’t read the room at all.”

Rick seemed stunned in the bed. Even in the dark, Emily saw his mouth fall open, but he said nothing.

“You failed because of you,” she continued. “But you were happy to take it out on me – the powerful woman you reframed as a threat to the only thing you love. You have a problem with me, Rick, and the only way you knew how to handle it was to try to subjugate me.”

“I… I’m sorry, Emily-” Rick choked.

“Get out,” Emily said quietly and pointed to the door. “I don’t like you much now either.”

“I didn’t mean… I didn’t know…”

“Rick,” Emily sighed in a long-suffering way. “Go.”

So, he went, and her urge for companionship went with him. She didn’t grieve it too much; she’d never had a lot of luck in that area and maybe she was getting too old to be repeatedly disappointed. The numbness was comforting, telling her she was _just fine_ on her own – just her and Follow, the most loyal guy she knew. Some people were built for others, perhaps she was just built for herself. In their final texting conversation, after Rick had asked for a second chance and she’d shut that down without ambiguity, he wrote, _now I know why you never married – you’re hot on the outside, but down deep you’re just ice_. She thought about that long after she erased the message.

*END OF PART 2*


	8. Chapter 8

There was a Christmas where Emily relented and went back to D.C. for a visit. It was just supposed to be a flyby to Rossi’s place – a simultaneous celebration of his new book being published and a low-key holiday remembrance. But when Emily arrived, Krystal was arranging caterers and organizing a seating chart.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Dave wanted to get the gang back together this year,” Krystal grinned as she waved frantically at the florist. “He knew you’d find an excuse not to come if he told you, which is why he didn’t. I’m sorry, Emily, I tried to warn him about stealth celebrations, I really did…”

“S’okay, Krystal. This isn’t on you,” Emily huffed and quietly started to panic. She suddenly didn’t feel terrible at all for bringing Follow with her. She hoped he ate something Rossi cherished.

But it wasn’t as catastrophic as she thought. She had a chance to catch up with Lewis in person, and to thank her for hanging in over the years as a casual friend.

“I may never be the profiler you are, Emily, but I’m a damned fine psychiatrist. Pushing has never gotten anywhere with you,” Lewis smirked and Emily smiled. “I’m loving the grey, by the way. Sorta a power-bitch silver, isn’t it? I wish mine would go that way…”

Emily cackled. Lewis made her sound like a superhero, and it was the opposite of what everyone else said.

Morgan flew in for the day, and Garcia immediately placed a headband of tiny antlers on him. He grinned and hugged her until she whooped for mercy, then he strode over to Emily and did the same while Follow gently growled at her feet. Morgan’s grin was the same as always but the lines around his eyes were deeper, the only sign that he was aging at all.

“What’s with the furball?” Morgan grinned and pointed at Follow, who stood up as straight as he could.

“He’s my main squeeze these days.” Emily glanced at Follow and gave him an ‘it’s okay’ look. “Follow, this is Morgan. He’s a dog person too.”

“Follow, huh?” Morgan held out his knuckles and waited. Follow sniffed the air experimentally, and then stepped forward, tongue flicking out quickly to taste him. The lick was repeated, and then Follow made his huff of approval, and Morgan’s fingers moved to gently scratch his scruff. “That’s it. Yer alright…” Morgan glanced back at Emily and smiled. “A little protective. And scruffy.”

“He saved my life, so he can look any way he wants to. Besides, I think he’s got flair…” Emily took over scratching duties and Follow leaned into it hard, eyes closing in delight. Morgan watched it unfold with equal parts shock and wonderment.

“Well, he’s better than you getting old with a cranky cat, I guess. But a woman as fine as you oughta have more in her life than the unbridled affection of a mutt. Just sayin’, Em.”

Emily swatted him gently and Follow barked, thinking it was the start of a new game he didn’t know about. 

“He’s better than any guy I’ve ever dated. And less work too, even though I have to feed, bathe, and drive him everywhere.”

“I think that says more about your crappy taste in men than it does about the dog,” Morgan laughed and went back to manhandling Garcia, who leaned into it almost as gratefully as Follow.

“Speaking of cranky cats, where’s the Boy Wonder?” he asked after a saccharine canoodle with his ‘boo’. Emily went still and waited, strangely feeling nothing at all.

“He couldn’t make it.”

Everyone turned and saw JJ sneaking up behind Morgan, then they all fell into hellos and hugs and how-long-has-it-beens. JJ grinned at them all in turn, even Emily, and she looked as wonderful as ever. Still blonde and petite, with a hint of steel in those deceptively soft eyes. She had a few more lines as well, but still – amazing. She made a beeline for Emily and wrapped her in an unexpected hug.

“Good to see you,” she murmured before she pulled away, and Emily didn’t know what to say other than, “Same here.” JJ was wearing a wedding band and Emily couldn’t tell if it was the same one she’d always worn. It had been six years – anything could’ve happened to any of them, not just her. JJ caught Emily’s gaze and gave her a tricky smile. Then she turned to everyone else.

“That’s what Rossi told me anyway. Apparently, his course schedule is too hectic for a holiday.”

“Course schedule?” Emily blurted without thinking. Everyone looked at her.

“He’s out in California, teaching at CalTech,” Morgan said, giving her an odd once-over. “You didn’t know?”

Emily shook her head and reached for Follow. She felt his tongue on the inside of her palm – _I got your back, partner…_ Then, strangely, Garcia swooped in and swept away the awkwardness.

“Well, it’s his loss. And since Rossi was all sneaky about this get-together, there’s a possibility Genius didn’t know the full scale of the party plan. He probably would’ve made the effort if he’d known we were all flying in from the four corners of the globe.”

“I dunno,” Lewis shrugged. “He was sure eager to get outta here when he left five years ago…”

 _Five years?_ Emily didn’t hear anything beyond that. Reid had been gone almost as long as she had. She wondered why. She wondered what he was like now, so far removed from the Bureau and its nightmares. Basically, she just wondered. Then she heard a soft whine and she looked down at Follow’s upturned face. A hand nudged her arm.

“Hey, you okay?” JJ asked cautiously as everyone moved into Rossi’s palatial living room. “You spaced out there…”

“Just tired, I guess,” she lied seamlessly.

“You didn’t know Reid left the Bureau, huh?”

Emily sighed. “I haven’t spoken to him in years.”

“That really surprises me,” JJ said quietly, tucking her hand around Emily’s arm. Emily wondered at the sudden display of closeness. “I would’ve guessed that his first move after resigning here was to go up to New York to find you.”

Emily stopped short, Follow bumping into her and JJ from behind. “Why would you think that?”

JJ sighed and then rolled her eyes dramatically. “C’mon, Em…”

“No, really, Jennifer. Why?”

JJ’s tired nonchalance melted into a muted sort of shock almost immediately. Then she stepped toward Emily and kept her voice low. “You… really didn’t know? About… us?”

“Of course I knew,” she snapped back quietly, surprised at how quickly the anger resurfaced after so long. “That doesn’t explain why he’d leave D.C. and come looking for me.”

JJ just blinked at her for half a minute while Rossi loudly welcomed everyone else.

“You were the reason he left,” she murmured in surprise. It surprised the hell out of Emily as well.

“Something you said burrowed into his brain and eventually he just… checked out. He never told me what it was – and believe me, I tried to get him to talk about it. He just _wouldn’t._ ” JJ choked a little. Emily wanted to rise above her pettiness in that moment, but found she was still incapable of that generosity. “Not that we were ever really _together_ … it was all talk and careful circling for over a year-”

“I don’t really want to know this, JJ,” she interrupted.

JJ peered at her closely and then nodded as a blush rose to her cheeks. “Yeah, okay, well… he said he didn’t think we could work together anymore – it wasn’t healthy. He said, _sometimes you have to make a choice to bleed a little now to avoid a bigger hurt in the future_. I see that now, but I didn’t then and… I said some stuff I probably shouldn’t have.”

“What kind of ‘stuff’?”

She gazed at Emily as her cheeks turned scarlet. “I said… he didn’t have the balls to fight for what he wanted. I told him he was determined to be lonely and good luck with the rest of his damned life. I… I told him that he let you slip away, so why should I be any different?”

Emily breathed shallowly, calmly. “He didn’t let anyone ‘slip’ away, Jen.”

“I accused him of sabotaging us from the beginning because of you. He was never gonna admit anything unless someone forced the issue…”

“Admit _what?_ ”

“Jesus Christ, Emily… that he was in love with you.” JJ scowled at her obtuseness. 

Emily took a beat and made sure her voice was the calmest, most dismissive version she could produce. “Reid was never in love with me, Jennifer. He never even came close to that, and you know it. We were good friends, but we had a falling out that couldn’t be fixed. That’s it. Any ideas about us beyond that is pure fantasy.”

Emily stared JJ down and waited. “C’mon, JJ. You’re as good a profiler as me – you know it’s the truth.”

JJ’s eyes narrowed critically as she leaned closer. “Maybe that’s the truth of what happened, but it’s not the whole truth about what you two felt. And yeah, I am as good a profiler as you, Em, so don’t try and snow me on _that._ ”

Emily blinked, and then deflected like a champion. “No matter what you think we felt, the truth of the matter is that he _didn’t_ come looking for me. He didn’t call, he didn’t write… He moved away from everyone and started a new life. Those aren’t the actions of a man with some deep, secret affection.”

JJ cocked an eyebrow at Emily and sighed. “You two deserve the misery you inflict, you know that?” Then she turned away. “Who needs a damned drink…”

JJ wandered into the living room, abandoning Emily once again. Emily initially felt denied – on the outside of everything that was swirling about her – but then she quickly reminded herself that she’d wanted this. She had no one to blame but herself for the feeling of disconnection. It was obvious that JJ had changed over the years of silence, and that her trusted girlfriend was buried under layers of resentment and history that Emily didn’t understand anymore. Not to mention the somewhat disturbing information she’s just learned about Reid, which JJ had spent five years dissecting and reconstructing into her own narrative.

Emily felt Follow bump her calf as he sat down and scratched at his ear enthusiastically. She watched him and envied his simple enjoyment of life.

“This was probably a mistake,” she mumbled, and Follow looked up at her curiously. “Wanna get out of here?”

Follow cocked his head sideways, but then a shoulder nudged hers, and Emily looked up to find Lewis smirking and offering her a glass of wine.

“Not so fast. Wine first,” she said, and Emily took what was offered with a small smile. They clinked glasses and then turned to watch the others. “There’s still tension between you and JJ, huh?”

Emily sighed. She didn’t want to talk about it. Lewis just nodded knowingly after a long moment.

“There’s nothing wrong with that, you know.”

“Nothing wrong with what?” Emily asked.

“Saying goodbye to a close friendship. Especially when it is obviously over,” Lewis clarified without looking at her. “It doesn’t change anything in the past. Those memories are still as valuable as they ever were.”

“But… it feels like failure,” Emily mumbled, and Lewis faced her, staring critically. “You should fight for those you care about.”

“Not to your detriment,” Lewis shook her head. “Friendships change when people do, and people can change a lot depending on the experiences they accumulate. If a relationship starts to feel bad, if it starts to hurt you, you have to re-evaluate its worth. That’s self-care, not failure.”

Emily looked at Lewis and saw the absolute belief of what she was saying in her eyes. Emily knew about Lewis’s ex-husband, and how that partnership had changed and caused damage over time. Lewis knew what she was talking about. But it didn’t make Emily feel any better about JJ, and it didn’t explain why thinking about Reid – now out of her life for six years – still hurt so much.

“Where do you draw the line, Tara?” she asked quietly. “When is something too broken to fix, and when is something worth fighting to bring back? And if someone you love turns out to be toxic, why does it hurt so damned much to cut them loose?”

Lewis smiled sadly. “If I knew the answer to those questions, I’d become a multi-millionaire self-help guru and retire to my private island in the South Pacific.”

Emily laughed and choked on her wine at the same time. Follow made an inquisitive sound at their feet.

“It’s a gut-check, Emily. That’s all I know.” Lewis shrugged, glancing over the others in Rossi’s living room. “Jen struggled for a while. There were problems with Will – she didn’t go into it with me, but it was obvious in its own way. She seemed to be coming out of it when I left the Bureau a few years ago to start my practice, but I don’t know anything about what she’s been through since then. All I can say is that she and Will found a way through it. However she managed that might have left its own scars that have little to do with any of us.”

Emily watched JJ smiling and hugging Garcia across the room. “But what if _I_ did something that added to her problems?”

“How could you have added to her problems at home?” Lewis asked, her brows creased but her gaze sharp. Emily could guess at where her mind was going.

“Nothing direct. I didn’t know her marriage was in trouble,” she explained. “But I refused to give advice. I wasn’t there for her like I had been in the past. And maybe… I judged her.”

Lewis huffed out a breath. “Well, that’s just being human, in my opinion. We all get selfish from time to time. Plus, you’re a profiler – you’re trained to judge.”

“Yeah, but I should’ve been a better friend,” Emily grumbled back.

“Oh, bullshit,” Lewis said quietly. “You made choices and so did she. Mistakes might have been made, and shit was said. Big deal. There’s no such thing as a perfect person.”

Emily glanced at her, a smile curling one side of her mouth. “Do you talk to your patients this way?”

“You bet your ass I do. And I charge $200 an hour for it.” She made a ‘gimme’ gesture with her free hand. “Pony up.” 

Emily laughed and then straight-up guffawed when Lewis acted insulted and declared, “I’m serious. You can afford it – show me the money.”

Then Rossi spotted them and waded his way through the others to get in on the action.

“Oh no. Here comes Dave,” Lewis’s eyes darted to the inbound Rossi. “I’m getting out of here before he fills me with scotch and cajoles me into playing poker with him again. I’m still pissed that he grifted me out of my granddaddy’s socket wrench set last time.”

“Tara! Emily!” Rossi declared loudly. Lewis artfully skirted him and headed towards the bar set up in the corner of the room, leaving Emily to fight the good fight on her own.

“Was it something I said?” Rossi called out after Lewis.

“Something about socket wrenches…” Emily smiled.

“Oh.” Rossi turned to shout at Lewis’s back. “You can win them back any time, Lewis. Don’t be like that…”

Lewis turned and flipped Rossi off with the sweetest smile on her face. Rossi just chuckled.

“Smooth, Dave.” 

Follow sniffed Rossi’s pant leg experimentally, but refused to leave Emily’s side, despite the excitement in the room.

“Hey bella, how’s it going? Having a good time?” It was obvious that Rossi was having a blast, his cheeks rosy and his grin undeniable. Emily smirked at him and sipped her wine.

“As good a time as I can considering I didn’t know I was walking into a reunion…”

“Awww, don’t be sore about this. I just wanted to get the band back together for a while. Indulge a sentimental old man,” he grinned wolfishly.

“But it’s not the whole band, Dave.”

“True. It’s just my favorites. It’s not like I’d ever let Blake know where I lived, for example.” He nudged her shoulder playfully and Follow watched him without amusement. “And Aaron and Reid are both west coasters now. It was a long shot that either of them would come, no matter how I conned them.”

“Hotch is in California too?”

Rossi nodded. “Once Jack went off to college, he got restless, and the Midwest wasn’t a good fit for him. He ended up teaching out at Stanford and liked it. When Reid lit on outta here, he went for a visit and ended up staying in Aaron’s guest room for six months. You know, _finding himself_ , or whatever it is you do out there…”

“Reid and Hotch… lived together?” The shock must have been obvious on her because when Rossi turned and saw her face he guffawed.

“I know, right? Talk about The Odd Couple. Aaron said Reid was sorta lost when he showed up. I guess that stands to reason. He was barely more than a kid when Gideon brought him on. The Bureau was his whole adult experience… that’s a big sea change, tryin’ to figure out what’s next, ya know?”

“I know,” Emily sighed into her wine glass.

Rossi studied her for a moment. “The kid’s never been good with change. Whatever Aaron’s flaws are, being unable to read people isn’t one of them. He let him stay, to get his feet under him again, to figure out who he wanted to be now.”

Emily nodded and glanced around the living room, gaze sliding over the faces she used to consider her family.

“And Aaron knew he was running from something,” Rossi concluded softly, bringing Emily’s eyes back to his. “He knew he had to give the kid a safe place to sort through that.”

Rossi held her focus for an uncomfortable thirty seconds, his mirth gone. “You know something happened between him and JJ.”

“Yes,” she sighed. Did everyone know? “He tried to discuss it with me, and I blew it off. That was the beginning of the end for us.”

It was Rossi’s turn to sigh, and then he took a liberal swig of his scotch. 

“All I know is what Garcia managed to figure out. He never mentioned anything to me, and neither did Jennifer. I don’t think it was ever more than a suggestion to him. He’d rather drive a nail into his temple than hurt JJ’s kids in any way…”

Rossi reached for Follow absently and the dog withstood his fumbling fingers until they scratched behind his left ear and he traitorously melted against Rossi’s leg.

“But you know Reid: he’s always a little late to the party, so to speak. He probably took his time addressing it, and then putting his foot down. And, no doubt, he was flustered by being wanted in the first place…”

Emily’s gut twisted uncomfortably, and she turned away again.

“But I gotta give him credit where it’s due. When he solved it, he solved it _emphatically._ ”

“What do you mean?”

Rossi glanced at her, one side of his mouth curling. “He went to Will.”

“He… he what?”

Rossi nodded. “Yep, he told Will that JJ was unhappy, and pushed to get them both into counselling. Ballsy move.” Rossi shook his head slowly. “But it cost him his friendship with JJ. She acts all rosy about them now, but I don’t think she’ll ever get over how that blindsided her. From what Aaron told me, they only talk on holidays, and even then, Reid mostly calls to talk to the boys.”

“Jesus…” Emily murmured, truly surprised.

“That was shortly after you left for New York. He hung around for another year, but his heart wasn’t in the work any longer. When you think about it, it’s no wonder he resigned. He lost a lot of fundamental stuff all at once.” Rossi glanced at Emily, and then away again. “Didn’t take much for Aaron to profile that when he showed up on his doorstep. So, he gave the kid a room and some time, and the genius found his way through it. As if he wouldn’t.” 

Rossi let out a huff of pride. Emily had forgotten how fond Rossi had become of Reid over the years.

“Huh,” Emily mumbled. “I didn’t know any of that. Obviously.”

Rossi shrugged non-commitally. “People grow apart. It happens.”

“I guess.” She sipped too much wine and then coughed, trying to keep it muted. “So, he’s at CalTech, huh? What’s he teaching?”

“Criminal psychology. What else? He’s got that bug hard, you know,” Rossi chuckled. “I hear he teaches some advanced math lectures as well. Nothing I’d understand…”

Emily snorted as she smirked. She wouldn’t understand his math babblings either.

“He’s writing a book too. I think it’s due to his publisher this month, actually.”

“A book? Reid? Hmmmm, I wonder where he got _that_ idea from…”

Rossi smiled but also looked guilty. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, you don’t, Dave.”

“Listen, all I did was mention that my publisher was interested in any former BAU agents willing to write something. And that was five years ago. And Hotch was there too. And we were all pretty drunk at the time. It was a blanket offer.”

“And after that you let it drop completely, did you?”

Rossi’s cheeks pinked up. “Not exactly. But the kid took his time deciding about it, and then he got his own agent and found a different publisher. My guy is still spitting nails about it.”

“So, what’s he writing about?”

Rossi turned and huddled closer to her with a renewed gleam in his eye. “That’s the genius part. He could’ve written something about a famous case – something forensic and all ‘behind-the-scenes’. Publishers wet themselves over that stuff. Or he could’ve done something dry and academic. Everyone knows he could do that in his sleep. In fact, I think we all _thought_ he’d write something boring…”

“So, what _is_ he writing then?”

“He’s writing about us. Investigators – the team. He’s writing about what it’s like for us, every day. The successes and the failures, the losses and the frustrations, the tolls it takes on the friends and families…”

“Really? That… it doesn’t seem like him.”

“But think about it for a minute. He’s always been the one who viewed us most like a family. He always took the job on with too much intensity. We always worried about him breaking because he invested too much, remember? You and I had that discussion many times.”

She nodded absently, still not quite wrapping her head around the idea.

“He’s sensitive – I don’t think any of us would deny that – but sometimes we forget about it because he’s so good at hiding it. Always has been. I’m sure we can find a way to blame that on Gideon, by the way…”

“So… he’s writing about being a cop…”

“Yeah, but in all of its unglamorousness, and petty jurisdictional rivalries, and the limitations, and the freakish danger, and the intense partnerships, and how it grinds at you until you either break or become the hero you see on tv and in the movies.”

“Wow,” she breathed, thinking it was both a great and terrible concept for a book. “The Bureau’s gonna hate that.”

“Yeah,” Rossi drawled with a huge grin. “Reid said they’ve already threatened to sue if he goes through with it. But his publishers have a gaggle of flesh-eating lawyers that are drooling at the prospect of taking the federal government to court over a freedom of speech issue, so… it’s gonna happen whether the Director likes it or not. Who knows? It might end up being some weird-ass recruiting tool for them when all is said and done. People are strange that way.”

Emily just stood there, wine forgotten in her hand, wondering what Reid thought about fifteen years of being an investigator – about fifteen years of _his life_. Follow shuffled and sat on her foot, looking up at her glazed eyes and whining softly.

“We traded galleys a few months back before my manuscript was due, and, I gotta tell ya, I was jealous,” Rossi huffed, and Emily looked at him. “His was riveting. Goddamned riveting. I mean, when he pitched me the idea, I didn’t think he’d end up writing something that…”

“That what?”

Rossi stared at her. “I didn’t think he’d write something that moved me so much.”

Emily thought about that for a while. Rossi wasn’t easily moved, and Reid wasn’t openly demonstrative. The combination had her prickling with curiosity, though she could already tell that her interest would cause damage. Hadn’t it always? It was probably best to remain ignorant of what Reid thought of his life at the Bureau – the life they shared for years. Better to leave him alone in his new life across the country.

“Is he happy?” she blurted suddenly and felt her cheeks heat when she realized it exposed her too much to Rossi. He turned and gave her a knowing smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes like he was a father indulging a particularly difficult daughter.

“He’s happier than he was, yes,” he said gently. “The job became a burden to him. That’s the key takeaway from his book: you have to hang it up before it erodes too much of you. Fifteen years is a good run by anyone’s standard in this career. He’s better now. Lighter.”

Emily nodded and pinched her mouth shut.

“But there’s still a corner of him that’s just… bare, for lack of a better word,” Rossi murmured and waited for Emily to meet his gaze again. “The thing between him and JJ was never gonna amount to anything. But it was the closest he’s come to a personal commitment since Maeve. I think that emptiness eats at him, and part of the reason why the JJ mess took so long for him to figure out was that a part of him desperately wanted that emptiness to finally end, even if it was just a fantasy in his head.”

Emily sighed and felt the heaviness of that insight sink into her bones. “He’s always been aggressively alone, Dave.”

Rossi murmured doubtfully. “Has he? I’m not so sure.”

They stood together in silence for another minute and then Rossi turned to her once more with that same doting smile. “And how are you, bella? Happy? You look as stunning as ever…”

Emily smiled and leaned in to give him a quick buss on the cheek and a shoulder squeeze. “Thanks, Dave, but I’m just an old broad getting older. And greyer.”

“Nonsense. You are marching right into the teeth of it with your sword drawn and your back straight. You are categorically splendid at any age, Emily.”

She winked at him and sighed, reaching for Follow and feeling his broken ear under her fingertips. “I’ve enjoyed taking my foot off the gas over the last few years. Life is considerably less exciting now, and I’m fine with that.”

“And love? What about love, bella? You need more than just a scruffy dog who reminds us all of someone we know…”

Emily blinked and then looked down at Follow, who blinked back at her and cocked his head in confusion. “Who do you think he looks like?” she asked. Rossi just rolled his eyes dramatically. “Dave, what are you talking about? He’s _a dog._ ”

“He’s _a replacement_ , and a sign that you need to cultivate a few more human friends,” Rossi smirked. “Don’t get me wrong – he’s as disarming as the original – but you should try to find someone you can _talk_ with as well. Amongst other things.”

“I talk with people,” she said too defensively. “I even talk to Follow.”

“Well, if he starts talking back, you know you’re in trouble,” Rossi chuckled and wrapped his arm around her shoulders for a squeeze. “C’mon, let’s take this topic to the group and see what profile markers they can glean from it. It’ll be fun.”

Emily groaned but allowed herself to be led back into the fray of the gathering. As promised, everyone profiled her with excruciating detail, but it wasn’t anywhere near as fun as Rossi predicted.


	9. Chapter 9

Four months later, on a blustery spring day in Soho, Emily jogged past a shop window and then had to double back with a confused Follow at her heels when she recognized a face staring out at her. In the corner of the window display was a modest stack of books in front of a poster board claiming the title to be a New York Times non-fiction bestseller for two months. In the corner of the poster was a photo of Spencer Reid, arms crossed, in a dark suit, with such a serious look on his face that she assumed the photographer told him how to do it. She shuffled into the musty-smelling shop and found another stack of books off to the side with one propped open on the top. Emily picked up a copy and read the blurb on the dust jacket while Follow whined softly at her feet eager to be out chasing pigeons and sniffing lampposts again.

“Follow, behave yourself,” she admonished quietly as she skimmed purchase-bait sentences like _‘the real story behind being an agent in the FBI’s famed serial killer unit’_ and _‘the gritty reality of hunting notorious criminals’_.

Inside the cover was another picture of Reid, this one less serious but still doggedly professional. He was older – the sharp lines around his eyes and mouth now deeper – but he still appeared younger than she knew him to be. His hair had streaks of grey at the temples and brow, but he still wore it too long and shaggy to be anything other than eccentric.

“Probably fits right in at college,” she snarked to herself.

He wasn’t smiling, but stared directly at the camera, and the lighting drew attention to his stark contours and resolute thinness. He wore glasses, which lent him a professorial authority, as well as the brief listing of his accreditations and current teaching position in California. In total, she didn’t know the man looking out at her, but her mind could overlay his aged features with the grin she remembered, the sparkle of discovery and the flush that rose from his excitement to share it. It wasn’t even hard to do – thirty seconds of staring, and he crept up in her mind as vividly as if she’d seen him yesterday. She hadn’t realized how much effort she’d put into avoiding his memory until this poor duplication of him made her see that he’d always been close to her surface. Her face flushed, and she clapped the cover closed to regain some privacy.

“You can’t bring your dog in here.”

Emily looked up, distracted, and saw a pinched face glaring at her from the counter ten feet away. The employee was wearing an apron that momentarily confused the hell out of Emily. What did she need an apron for? There was nothing but books and a fuckton of dust in there.

“Pardon?” she shook her head and stepped closer.

“Your dog,” the woman said and pointed at Follow. “He can’t be here. Tie him up outside or something.”

“Nonsense,” Emily dismissed the notion and walked to the counter, placing Reid’s book on it. “By-laws against animals are restricted to food service businesses, for obvious reasons.” The retort suddenly struck her as very Reid-like. _Great._

The clerk blinked at Emily in disbelief. “It’s… a safety issue.”

Emily glanced around the store. She was the only customer there. “What issue is that, exactly?”

“It’s store policy.”

Emily focused her deadpan stare on the clerk until it became uncomfortable. “This store has a cat.” 

She pointed to the pile of blankets in the far corner of the display window, then the bowl on the floor behind the counter, and finally to the copious animal hair trapped in the clerk’s sweater and apron. The clerk blinked in shock, and Emily heard Follow’s nails scuttle around on the wood floor as if he’d just clued into the fact that there was a cat somewhere to hunt down.

“Now, are you gonna let me buy this book, or continue being precious about your shop?”

“Uh, sure…” the clerk huffed, face flaming and avoiding Emily’s glare. She plugged the purchase into her register and bagged the book. “We have a whole section on true crime, if that’s your thing…”

Emily paid and collected the bag. “It’s not.”

She whistled for Follow, heard a muted yowl from somewhere in the depths of the book stacks, and then Follow appeared, panting and wagging his tail too aggressively.

“What were you doing, hmmmm?” she mumbled and smiled when Follow ducked his head in his ‘sorry-not-sorry’ expression. “Let’s go home.”

When they got back to her condo, Emily poured herself a drink and then stared at it, wondering why she needed that fortification before opening a friend’s book. And it was only two in the afternoon. She sighed and sunk down onto the sofa, waiting for Follow to settle next to her, and placing the drink on her coffee table just in case. 

“Well, let’s see what you really think, Spence,” she murmured as she cracked the spine and flipped to the title page.

_Living In The Dark by Dr. Spencer Reid, Special Agent, Behavioral Analysis, FBI (ret.)_

The title wasn’t him at all, she thought. Probably something his publisher chose. She flipped to the next page and stopped dead. It was the dedication page and it was entirely blank except for a single sentence in the middle.

_Wherever this goes from here, I’m with you._

“Fuck…” she whispered, starting to shake a little as she remembered.

It was shortly after Maeve’s murder. He was on forced leave, and she was in London. Everyone was worried for him; he’d fought Hotch hard about the bereavement leave and lost, and then he’d shut everyone out in punishment. Garcia was texting Emily almost by the hour, anxiety ramping her up even with an ocean between her and the situation. Like the others, she tried to get through to him, but she was easier to avoid because she couldn’t do anything more than call or email. Finally, after days of just his voicemail and Garcia’s hysteria, Emily took things to another level. She bought a burner phone and called him over and over until he had no choice but to deal with the annoyance.

“Who the hell is this?” he barked when he finally answered.

“It’s Emily.”

“W-what? Why are… where are you calling from?” he sputtered, still angry but also confused.

“London. I just got a different phone.”

“To trick me.”

“Yeah,” she murmured, ashamed. “I’m just really worried for you, Spence. I needed to hear your voice.”

He went quiet for a moment. “Well, you’ve heard it now. Stop calling me.”

“Wait, don’t hang up. Can’t we… talk a little?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Spencer, c’mon. Don’t do that. Not with me.”

“I don’t want to talk about… her. I can’t. And nothing else matters.” He took a breath she could hear, and he choked on it. “I have nothing now.”

Her heart twisted up in her chest like something wrung out until it was empty and dry. She gasped quietly for air, to find something in her to ease some life and color back into both of them at once.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” she whispered eventually, wishing that she was next to him more than she could stand. “You can just _be_ here with me, right now. I won’t hang up, and I won’t push. I promise.”

She heard him breathing across the phone, shallow and too rapid, as if he were fighting with himself. It went on for over a minute, and then finally, it poured out of her almost on instinct.

“Spencer, wherever this goes from here, I’m with you.”

He didn’t hang up. But he didn’t talk either, his strangled breath eventually changing to quiet sobs as Emily clutched the phone to her ear, rocking and crying softly with him. The memory of that night stood out sharply in her mind – its edges never dulled with time, the hurt never diminished – and yet they never discussed it afterwards. Sometimes she wondered if he even remembered it, his grief being so raw and blistering then – perhaps it played tricks on his mind. But now she looked down and saw it shouted on an empty page for the whole world to see, this promise that no one knew about but them. She told him she’d always have his back, and then she abandoned that pledge because he chose someone else. Some friend she’d turned out to be.

“Fuck,” she said again quietly, and Follow lifted his head from her knee in concern. She ruffled his scruff and glanced at the drink on the coffee table. She was going to need that after all.


	10. Chapter 10

She read the entire book in one sitting. By the end, in the early hours of the morning, he lived fully-formed in her mind, narrating every word on the page to her. It was exhausting, but also wonderful. To have him with her again, his voice so authentic and clear in her head, she ached with how much she missed that. 

But the book was beyond personal. It wasn’t obvious – he hadn’t dug into the messy details of team members’ lives and exposed them to the world. He’d never violate anyone that way. But to an insider like her, it was brazenly candid. No wonder why Rossi had been so moved by it. His opinions were unvarnished, his insights sharp and exact, his disappointments, his joys, and his expansive love for the people he worked with were visceral, no longer disguised by his quirks and ticks and soft deflections. It was heady and hard to absorb. 

By the end, she felt as if she’d downloaded him into her cerebral cortex and there wasn’t enough room for both of them and all of their emotions to exist there together. She was a hastily-reconstructed version of herself when she and Follow stumbled to her office that morning, and no one noticed the ghost of Spencer Reid trailing after her.


	11. Chapter 11

He lived in her mind and wouldn’t go away. Perhaps it was punishment for the nearly six years she’d shoved him aside to get on with her life. She reread his book. Twice. Each time he unfolded a little more for her. One passage towards the end always caught her attention:

_The decision to leave law enforcement, and the people whom I considered to be my family, was simultaneously the easiest and hardest thing I’ve ever done. The work was just work, despite the cases that haunt me and the victims I’ll never forget. It’s a mission you can embrace – and should if you are to be any good at it – but it is also one you can put down when you choose. It’s okay to give yourself permission to say, “Enough”. To insist otherwise is to be enslaved by it, to become a victim yourself. But leaving my team behind was akin to severing a limb._

_It’s hard to quantify how these relationships differ from typical friendships. The only analogy that fits is war. The connections between people who fight together, the unshakeable allegiances that, years later, remain constant and vivid, is the only thing that comes close to explaining how I’d do anything for a fellow team member. But this is also a dangerous, untenable intensity not suited for civilian life. It’s why so many of us in this field fail in marriage or relationships, why we become strangers to our children or the families who raised us. So, like soldiers at the end of a great, bloody conflict, we have to go our separate ways in order_ to live. _It’s traumatic and necessary. My silence or sudden absence is not evidence of resentment or ill will. It is the opposite, and it is also a silent promise to reappear for any of them when needed, no explanation required._ That _is the bond that has come to define me, and I would not trade the experience for anything._

Had he always been this person? This profoundly immersed, dangerously alert, intensely human _man_ this whole time and she’d missed it? Had he kept it from her for some reason? She wanted to reach out to him. She wanted to ask him, _What the hell?_ , but you know… nicely. Less hostile. She wanted to know how she’d missed so many chapters of his story when she thought they’d been as close as two friends could be. She considered contacting him, knew it would be easy enough to do, then worked herself up to it, and backed away again. This process repeated over and over until she shook off the impulse and took Follow for a run, or reviewed threat analysis reports until her head hurt, or sparred with her Krav Maga instructor until he told her to go home. It wasn’t a good idea; he was _living_ , and she should let him have that.

She put the book away. She told him to pipe down when his voice got too loud in her head. She wished him well and hugged Follow a little closer. 

It was fine. A proper ending to their story, finally.

*END OF PART 3*


	12. Chapter 12

The day was miserable, and she was busy being miserable in it. Autumn in New York is as picturesque as advertised. Except when it’s raining. Then it’s just shit and gridlock. She might have grumbled as much as she and Follow sprinted from where her car service dropped them off to her office building. She glanced back for just a moment, to make sure Follow was keeping up, and when she turned back she ran headlong into some schmoe who was dashing just as hard in the opposite direction. She stumbled back and nearly landed on her ass, Follow barking in alarm.

“Oh, fuck you, New York!” she growled as she righted herself and patted Follow’s wet head. He continued barking, and she tried calming him with an, ‘easy buddy’ before she turned her ire on the guy who’d knocked her back into the rain. “What the hell is your-”

“Emily?”

Spencer Reid was standing there, owl-eyed and drenched to the skin in the New York rain. His expression was as if she’d risen up in a cloud of steam from a manhole cover somewhere. For a moment all she could do was blink the rain from her eyes to make sure she wasn’t imagining it. But it was really him, hunched in his skinny suit against the onslaught, a little greyer, a little more serious, and, strangely, _taller_ than she remembered… 

Follow was still barking, her outfit was ruined, and all she could do was stare and think, _oh my god…_

Then she was hugging him without any lead-up. Clutching him close with a soggy squelch and a huffed, “Reid!” that made them both stumble back a step. After a worrying moment, his arms wrapped around her as well, and she felt him rest his chin on her shoulder.

“Good to see you,” he muffled, sounding a little surprised at both her enthusiasm and his response to it.

“You too.” Her grin felt maniacal when she stepped back to look at him again. Then she shushed Follow and pushed them towards the overhang of her office building. “Let’s get out of this damned rain for a moment… Follow, settle down pal. It’s alright…”

Reid shuffled to the overhang of the building and blinked a lot, brushing his soaked hair out of his face to get a good look at her. Emily felt her cheeks heat, but they were both in the same state. There was no use in feeling embarrassed. Follow was now growling, though less suspicious since Emily seemed at ease. She rolled her eyes at him and turned to Reid.

“Could you hold out your hand to him? He won’t settle until he’s been introduced…”

“Introduced?” Reid looked perplexed but did as she asked. Follow stepped forward and gingerly sniffed Reid’s fingers, making a great show of being mistrustful and fierce. Emily nudged his scruffy butt with her leg and he flicked his head around to look at her.

“Quit it, fleabag. Make friends already. He’s good people,” she warned.

“Me?” Reid said unnecessarily, and Follow turned back to him, gave another perfunctory sniff, and then licked his hand before shuffling back to Emily’s side and shaking his displeasure at being rushed all over her skirt.

“Oh, Follow, you tiny asshole…” she grumbled, and then looked at Reid who appeared as if all of this had just unfolded in a language he didn’t understand. She grinned again. “So, hi. Hey… how’s it going?”

She even waved at him like an idiot. And he just kept _staring._ It wasn’t going well. Maybe her people skills had atrophied a little too much. Or maybe she wasn’t how he remembered her. Her hand went to her hair and nervously brushed it back – she wasn’t grey when he’d last seen her. She hadn’t been _old_. She also hadn’t been soaked through, with her make-up dribbling down her face and living with six years of silence between them. She kept smiling anyway, and he kept staring. Then he suddenly blinked very hard and sort of reset himself.

“You have a dog,” he declared, looking at Follow and then his hand, which Follow had approved.

“Uh, yeah. He’s called Follow.”

“Why?”

Emily blinked in confusion. “Why do I have a dog, or why is he named Follow?”

“The latter.”

“Oh. Because he followed me home and I couldn’t get rid of him.” It wasn’t strictly true, but it was close. Reid nodded as if this was acceptably logical.

“He seems… protective. That’s good.”

“He has a glorified sense of his own heroics,” Emily smirked and scratched the wet curls forming on Follow’s head. He turned to her and panted happily. “But he saved my life once, for real.”

“Oh?” Reid’s eyes flicked from Follow to her with concern.

“Yeah. Some idiot in Central Park. It was years ago, but he decided then it was his job, and I haven’t told him otherwise, so…”

“So,” Reid crouched down slowly and waited until Follow stepped forward, head cocked curiously. Reid raised his hand and gently scratched Follow’s ear, while Follow watched and then eventually let out a ‘hrumph’ of approval. “He’s a _very good_ dog then.”

“He is,” Emily mumbled as she took the scene in. Reid never liked animals too much. It went on for a while – Reid scratching Follow and Follow acting increasingly like he was in love – and then Reid glanced up at her with a smile curling one side of his mouth.

“I kinda thought you were a cat person.”

She laughed. It felt good. And when she focused on Reid again he was genuinely grinning for the first time. “Well, I didn’t have Sergio for too long, and he was pretty independent. Follow kinda barged his way in – I didn’t have much say in the matter. And he needs me. I kinda like that. Dogs need a lot more, but they also give a lot more, ya know?”

“I don’t,” he said, standing once again but still fiddling with Follow’s ears. “But it sounds nice.”

The conversation petered out as suddenly as it began, and Emily got nervous, imagining the moments ticking down until even Reid was too uncomfortable to withstand it, and made a hasty exit on her.

“Why are you here?” she blurted, cringing at the desperation. “In New York, I mean…”

“Oh, uh… book tour. I wrote a book.”

“I know. I read it.” She tried not to flinch, but the blurting just kept happening.

“You did?” Reid’s voice got quiet and his eyes widened. His spine slouched a little and the fingers playing with Follow’s ear stilled. Follow grumbled his displeasure and nudged him with his nose.

Emily swallowed. In for a penny… “Yeah. It was…”

Reid waited and seemed to go a little paler in the process.

“It was… arresting. Just real and genuine, I guess. I was shocked by it. I’m not sure what I expected it to be, if I’m being honest.” She ducked her eyes away and then back. Reid just looked stunned. “It was so human, Spence, so legitimately full of things that felt… true. But also, a lot of stuff I didn’t know about. I mean… about you.”

She caught herself sighing in the gap left between her words and his shocked silence. “I know it’s just a memoir, and maybe my view is skewed by being an insider in that world but… I thought it was a helluva thing. A real accomplishment.”

Reid took a couple of moments to react. “T-thank you, Emily,” he breathed.

“C’mon, you don’t need me to tell you that,” she waved it all away. “It’s a bestseller. Everyone thinks it’s great.”

“Everyone isn’t you,” he said quietly, and then ducked his head down to conveniently focus on Follow again. 

Another awkward silence stretched between them as Reid played with Follow and ignored her. She wondered if he was trying to figure out what to say next, if some sort of reckoning was building inside him. But then an icy dribble snaked down her spine and made her shiver, which brought his attention back to her. 

“So, why are you running around in the rain with your dog in the middle of the day?”

“Oh… yeah. This is where I work. Pendleton’s corporate head office is in this building – they own the top five floors.” She pointed upward and then Reid looked up as if the building were a surprise to him. He glanced back at her.

“Follow comes to work with you?”

Emily shrugged. “I’m the head of security. Who’s gonna stop me?”

Reid chuckled and then shrugged himself. “Do you like it? You’ve been at it a while now…”

“It’s fine. It’s just a job, you know? I do it, and then I go home each night and I don’t really think about it until the next morning. It’s a relief that it’s so predictable. It lacks the obsessional desperation that the Unit had. Honestly, I don’t miss that at all.”

Reid looked out into the rain and nodded absently. “I get it. I thought it would be harder – adjusting to life on the outside. But I don’t really feel any loss about it. It’s mostly a sense of relief.”

She watched him watching the rain. “I got that from your book.” He looked back at her. “There was no regret in your choice.”

“No,” he shook his head, wet tangles clinging to his cheeks. “It was time. Like you said when you left.”

_But I left for different reasons, Spence…_

“Abbie asks me all the time why I don’t reminisce more about the Bureau. The cases, the antics… all of that. But I tell her, I wrote the book and I feel like that’s all I have to say about it. I don’t want to keep living the same fifteen years of my life over and over again.”

Abbie? Who was Abbie? Emily felt cold again, icy from the rain and the sudden drop she’d experienced from the manic high moments before. _It’s been six years,_ she chided herself. She nervously tried to smooth the damp wrinkles from her skirt and failed, and when she glanced back at Reid he was looking at her strangely.

“Abbie’s my literary agent,” he added quickly.

“I see.”

“I don’t think you do.”

She glanced at him and was surprised by the frankness in his features as he stared back. And they plummeted into another tricky silence.

Eventually, he shrugged and rolled on his feet making squishy sounds with his soaked shoes.

“I should let you go. You probably have a whole day to deal with…”

Her icy inertness suddenly burst as she stepped forward, her heart rate buzzing until she felt dizzy. “Do you have dinner plans?” she asked quickly. Reid glanced at her, confusion creasing his face. “Tonight, I mean…”

“No… uh… no plans.”

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” She curled one hand into the folds of her wet skirt and the other into Follow’s fur, like a little girl who didn’t want to be seen fidgeting.

“Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be sure?” she blinked.

“Uh… okay. Yeah,” he smiled cautiously. “I’d like that.”

“Great,” she smiled too and wriggled her fingers along Follow’s head in celebration. “Where are you staying?”

“The Langham on 5th.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Not bad.”

He shrugged. “The publisher’s paying for it. Though I’m sure it’ll come out of my residuals on the back end. You know my tastes are plainer than that.”

“Well, I know just the place to take you for dinner then,” she smirked, and he looked a little worried. “Pick you up at eight?”

“Okay. What are you driving?”

“I use a car service, and since it’s Manhattan, we’ll probably just slow down enough for you to throw yourself on the hood as we pass by. Be ready,” she laughed.

“I see. And me without my emergency Spandex on this trip. That’s always the way…” Reid shook his head mournfully which made Emily crack up at the mental picture of him clinging to a car like an aging academic Spiderman. He smirked back at her and wiggled his fingers. “Okay, see you at eight.”

“Yeah. See ya.”

Then she watched him lope back out into the rain like it was nothing and the whole scene hadn’t just made her buoyant and hopeful in a way she couldn’t articulate. Then Follow brought her back to earth when he shook himself out again and re-soaked her outfit.

“You really are an asshole sometimes,” she hissed. But Follow wagged his tail, oblivious, secure in the knowledge that he was her number one guy, no matter what sort of odd behavior she displayed to other humans.


	13. Chapter 13

Emily put too much effort into dressing for dinner. She tried on four separate outfits before she got angry and went in another direction with it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d doubted herself so much. But when she walked out of her condo, Follow shooting daggers at her from his pouting position on the sofa, she was on time and fronting with an air of confidence that was almost seamless. She slid into the town car in her dark jeans, leather coat and soft grey sweater that emphasized her hair, and decided, fuck it, she was going to lean into this evening and let the chips fall where they may. She wasn’t the woman Reid remembered, and he wasn’t the guy she knew either. His book had gone a long way toward proving that. Perhaps tonight was a way to salvage a little of their old selves while learning about the new people they were. Maybe they’d end up rekindling their friendship. Who knew?

He was waiting outside the Langham and seemed relieved that he didn’t have to run after the car when they picked him up. He slid into the backseat next to her, grinning, wearing a purple sweater and grey pants that fit just so, and with a tortured burgundy tie that felt like an afterthought. It was very him and seemed casual, but there was an undercurrent of anxiety as well. He kept picking invisible nothings from the crease of his pants and smoothing them down as they talked. He fiddled with his glasses too much and ran his fingers through his hair nervously. She did her best to remain still, to counterbalance his activity, but she felt relieved that she wasn’t alone with her nerves.

She chose a greasy spoon that was open all night. It was the sort of dive only locals trusted, not cool enough to tempt tourists or hipster foodies. The whole place had a patina of grease, aged and proud of its history, and the food was gloriously unhealthy. She knew he’d love it as much as she did. They got out and she sent her driver home for the evening as Reid raised a silent eyebrow at her. She just smiled and sauntered into the diner. It was the sort of place where you could sit alone and nurse a seventy-five-cent coffee all night without worry; the help just didn’t give a damn about you or your problems so long as you paid the check. Emily chose a booth that looked out over the bustling sidewalk and the leaves blowing down the canyons of lower Manhattan.

“This is quite the spot,” he said, settling in and checking out the laminated menu.

“Like it? I come here a lot, even if I have to spend the next few days running it off.”

“You know I love an old-fashioned American diner,” he said quietly without looking at her.

“I do,” she admitted, cheeks getting warm.

There was a comfortable silence while they went through the menu and waited for a server to take their drink order. After that was done, Reid’s gaze fell to the window, and Emily’s fell to him, slouched and languid, fingers worrying the edge of a paper napkin on the table. The grey in his hair was more pronounced now it was dry, and his glasses both disguised the lines around his eyes while emphasizing the ones at his mouth. You wouldn’t mistake him for a boy now, even with his colorful sneakers and long hair. He was mature, sturdy, and when his eyes flicked back to hers and held them, she realized he was fully anchored in his life, possibly for the first time.

“What?” he asked quietly.

She shrugged a little. “You’re different. I mean, obviously, we all are but… the way you seem different is subtler than I expected. I’m just taking it in, I guess.”

He shuffled his glasses up his nose. “I don’t think I’ve changed that much.”

“I’m not talking physically,” she explained, and he glanced at her again. “You just seem… comfortable being Spencer Reid for once. From head to toe. It’s nice.”

“Uh, thanks, I guess.”

She huffed and let her eyes drift to the window. “There’s nothing unflattering about knowing yourself better. And it’s far better than simply getting old.”

“At a certain point, age is an arbitrary delineation. And it’s never meant much to me other than when I had to fight against it.”

“ _Arbitrary delineation_ … Christ, I’ve missed that,” she chuckled and shook her head. “No one phrases things quite the way you do, Reid.”

“You missed me?”

She glanced up and his eyes were huge behind his glasses. He wasn’t showing her anything else but his extreme focus. She took a breath.

“Of course, I have.”

“Oh. Okay.” He nodded and looked down at his napkin again, falling silent. 

She watched him for a handful of moments until their server returned with their drinks and they placed their orders. When she disappeared back into the kitchen again, Reid raised a finger and picked up where he left off, looking at Emily with a frown. 

“See, that surprises me because _you_ were the one who stopped talking. Not me.”

“I know,” she murmured, the heat from her cheeks creeping up to sting the corners of her eyes.

“So, it’s not difficult to see how I might find your statement confusing.”

“Yeah.” She sipped her beer.

He leaned closer to the table when she didn’t offer anything else. “Is that all I’m gonna get? ‘Yeah’?”

Emily sat back into the booth and tried to find an answer to give him. But everything she came up with was too long and complicated.

“There were reasons,” she said eventually, leaning on her elbows and sighing. “They were important at the time. Maybe they’re less relevant now, I dunno. Or maybe time has made them seem stupid. Sometimes the past exhausts me, even just thinking about it. I’m not trying escape it, but I was hoping we might have a nice meal together and leave off the grinding of axes. Just for tonight. Perhaps that’s a lot to ask.”

He watched her carefully in silence, then reached for his beer and shrugged. “If that’s what you want…” he said quietly, eyes drifting to the street again. 

Something about the simple gesture made her anxious, as if he could let everything go when required and she couldn’t. It meant she didn’t have the same worth to him as she once did, and that was to be expected. But she chafed at it nonetheless. Maybe she wanted to grind axes after all – to have an electric friction with him once again.

“I want to know about your life now,” she said quickly, and was rewarded when he turned to face her again. “I want to know what you’re up to, if you’re happy… How’s living in California?”

Her cheerfulness was forced, but he bought in anyway.

“It takes a special kind of willful denial to live in a state under constant threat of earthquakes, forest fires, and mud slides. Pretty beaches and temperate climate notwithstanding.”

Emily chuckled. “Do you ‘beach’ now? I can’t picture that.”

“I swim when no one’s around to see my knees.” One side of his mouth lifted in a smirk. “I like the ocean. But anything that powerful requires respect.”

Now, she was laughing. His smile spread while it happened. “And now I’m picturing you on a beach giving a lecture about riptides and sharks…”

“Oh dear. That’s quite an image to have.”

“I’ll say…”

He waited until her amusement settled, and then he continued. “Honestly, it’s nice out there. Nicer than I thought it would be. When I visited Hotch in San Jose, I was surprised by how much I liked the place.”

“Do you see Hotch much?”

He nodded. “I try to. He almost got me in teaching at Stanford, but CalTech made an offer first, and they’re my alma mater. It’s a five hour drive up the coast to see him, but I like to go every few months. To catch up, ya know? Now, that Jack is grown and on his own, I worry Hotch might get a little hermit-y…”

“Hermit-y? Hotch? I can’t really imagine that.”

Reid shrugged. “He’s always been a solitary guy, and maybe he prefers that. I just want him to know he has other options. That’s all.”

“I’m sure he appreciates that.”

“We patched up our friendship when I moved out there. It’s been good,” Reid sighed and picked up his beer, but he didn’t seem tired, just wistful. “It’s nice to have someone around who knows me so well. I get tired of breaking in new people.”

She thought it was an odd thing to say, and then realized that she understood that feeling _exactly._ So, maybe it wasn’t all that odd.

“Honestly, Hotch was one of the factors that influenced me to stay in California rather than moving back to Vegas to be near Mom.”

“That must have been hard,” she said softly, and his eyes flicked to hers.

“It was, and I felt guilt about it when she died. But you make choices and you learn to live with them.”

The statement felt pointed, but she shook it off and veered toward a safer topic instead. “When did your mom die?”

“It’s been almost four years now.”

“I’m sorry, Spencer.”

He nodded once. “Thanks. It was difficult, but not as hard as I thought it would be. There was a lot of relief that she was finally done suffering.”

Emily found herself nodding as well.

“What about your mom?” Reid asked. “Is the Ambassador still around?”

Emily snorted softly. “Oh yeah. That old battleaxe is still here, judging my every move and furious that I never married, never had kids. I’m sure she’s determined to outlive me – just to show me how LIFE is done. She approves of my job at Pendleton, but has strong opinions about everything from Follow to my hair.”

Reid’s eyes focused on her hair and she resisted the urge to tuck it away. “What’s wrong with your hair?”

Emily blinked at him disbelievingly. “I went grey. She’s upset that I refuse to dye it. She thinks it’s ugly and it ages me too much.”

“It’s beautiful,” he said quietly, and then his eyes flicked away to the window. “She’s wrong.”

That stopped Emily in her tracks for a second. “She is?”

Reid nodded to the window. “Yes. Your choice is totally _you_ – a middle finger to beauty standards and a declaration that your self-worth isn’t shackled to outside opinion. It says you’re not afraid to make unusual choices. It speaks to independence. And besides, the shocks of white are captivating, and they draw more attention to your eyes…”

He abruptly stopped and took a gulp of beer. He didn’t look back at her.

“Oh,” she murmured, heat prickling her cheeks for a moment. “That’s nice of you to say.”

Reid shrugged as if he were just stating the obvious. Emily didn’t know how to follow that up and was saved from making an awkward leap by the return of their server with their food. The artery-clogging fiestas were placed in front of them, and suddenly they had something to occupy their hands and mouths instead of questionable conversation. Reid moaned a little as he bit into his burger, and Emily smirked at him until his cheeks got rosy.

“Good?” she said over her Philly cheesesteak and chili fries.

Reid rolled his eyes. “ _Bad._ So bad it’s glorious. I can actually feel my arterial walls forming plaque. Thanks for dinner and an early death due to heart disease.”

She laughed and choked on her dinner a little, having to clear it with too much beer. “My pleasure,” she croaked back, grinning. “I knew you’d love this place.”

“All those years you told me to eat my vegetables…” 

He took another bite. She remembered those meals in restaurants across the country. All the times she kidnapped his fries from him or made him order a salad instead. All the lectures about trans fats and refined sugar like they were ninjas waiting to assassinate him when he got back to their hotel…

“My food tirades are over. You’re a grown-up – you can eat whatever you want. Life’s too short to deny yourself pleasure,” she grinned, and got confused when his amusement faded. He watched her seriously as he ate, and she wondered what she’d done to turn the mood so sharply.

“Is that how you viewed us?” he asked after a moment. “Like a mentor/mentee dynamic? That I needed guidance?”

She swallowed awkwardly and then put her sandwich down. “No, I didn’t. Well, maybe in the first year, yeah. But after that, no. You showed me that you were more than capable. I just liked razzing you, I guess.”

He nodded and went back to his burger. “Because that’s what you do with someone younger.”

“No, Spencer.” She waited for him to look at her again. “You were young, but I never thought of you as a kid. In fact, it usually shocked me when a LEO made a comment about your age. Because I forgot about it – it just wasn’t a factor when I considered you.”

“Oh,” he blinked and then licked one of his fingers absently.

“Honestly, did you think I was a big sister or something?” There was a curl of rejection in the pit of her stomach when she contemplated that.

“No,” he said quickly, and then put his food down and pushed the plate away. 

“Good,” she sighed with too much relief. “Because if you had, that would’ve cast some of our stuff in a really weird light…”

“‘Stuff’…” he huffed, and reached for a napkin, worrying it between his fingers. Then he looked her straight in the eye with one of the most serious expressions she’d ever seen on him. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to bring up the past tonight but… there’s a question that’s bothered me for nearly six years, and I can’t let it go until I ask you about it.”

“O-okay,” she stuttered and sat back in the booth, waiting for him to fire with both barrels. “What is it?”

He sighed deeply. “Did you cut me out of your life after you left because you had to make a clean break from the Bureau – or did you do it because I wasn’t honest with you?”

Emily found herself blinking in confusion. “Honest with me?”

“Honest about how I felt,” he explained.

“You were honest about you and JJ. I just didn’t-”

“Not about how I felt for Jennifer,” he interrupted, leaning forward. “I wasn’t honest about how I felt about you.”

Emily’s mind went blank, a sort of blissful nothingness as she sat across from him blinking. Then she heard a voice and was shocked that it was hers. 

“How did…” The rest died in her throat.

“There was always something more than just friendship between us. There was for me anyway,” he continued warily, not sure how to take her quiet blinking. “Maybe you never noticed. In which case, I guess I have my answer. When JJ and I argued, she used to bring up the ‘vibe’ between you and me and throw it in my face, and it made me wonder about it so much, it just worked up into this unstoppable need to know if that’s why you shut me out.”

“I… I don’t understand…” She really didn’t. If he felt _more_ , why had he looked to JJ in the first place? Why had he come to her for advice about it? Jesus, she was starting to hate JJ a little for being right about this all along…

“If you just needed to put the Bureau part of your life behind you,” he continued, ignoring her shock. “I’d understand that. I really would. I had to do the same thing when I left, and it wasn’t because I wanted to forget everyone. I just wanted a fair chance at something new, ya know?”

He leaned closer to the edge of the table, brows creasing. “It hurt to lose you, Emily, but if that’s why you did it, I get it. That understanding is part of why I wrote the book. I wanted to show the team that I loved them, even though I had to leave them behind. It was also a chance to tell you that I wished you well, but that I’d be there if you ever needed me again. I didn’t know if you’d read it, but I hoped you would.”

She was having trouble catching her breath. “The dedication…” she mumbled, and he nodded.

“Yes. It was for you. To say goodbye properly.”

“Fuck,” she gasped, and he finally clued in that she wasn’t coping with this new information well.

“Em?”

“Why didn’t you… _say something?_ ” All those years crashed down onto her suddenly, heavy with things unsaid and the burden of wasted time. It made her _angry._

“Well,” he swallowed hard and seemed intimidated by whatever he saw in her expression. Then he soldiered on. “In the beginning, I felt… unsuitable. Too young, and possibly deluded about what I was feeling. I had a track record of developing attachments to people who didn’t feel the same way. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself, especially in a work context.”

He paused, waiting for her to react to that. But when all she did was glare at him, he dropped his gaze and went on. 

“I thought time would prove it, one way or another. We would either come to an understanding – like I had with JJ when I was young – and the feelings would change to friendship. Or something else would happen.”

“Something else?” Emily whispered incredulously.

“Yeah,” Reid lifted one shoulder and then let it drop. “Like, one day you’d look up and see me, and… you’d just _know._ I realize how stupid that sounds now, but at the time it seemed reasonable to me. I was naïve.” He shook his head, violently swaying his hair into his eyes as he disapproved of his foolishness. “So, I waited for you to see, to decide if it was something you wanted. Or for my feelings to change. One or the other.”

He glanced up at her then.

“The funny thing was, my feelings didn’t change. I mean, _we_ did, but they didn’t. And that became part of it – the specialness that we had. That even as we discovered things we didn’t like about each other, our connection remained. To me, that was amazing. Like that night you called after Maeve died. You saved me that night, Em, just letting me cry over the phone with you the way you did…”

Emily swore brutally under her breath, and Reid sat up straight across the table from her when he heard it, confused and shocked by its violence. His frown lines and grey hair screamed at her about the pointlessness of the years lost between them.

“But you chose JJ,” she snarked unfairly, and he twitched as if she’d growled at him. He blinked rapidly before finding his voice again.

“Years passed. I watched you make decisions that had nothing to do with me. Substantial decisions,” he glared and waited for that to sink in. That look was about Ian Doyle, and Interpol, and Mark. “I realized what I was chasing after only lived in my head. Then someone I once wanted told me I was wanted in return. Was I supposed to turn away from that in favor of a fantasy? JJ was real – her love was real.”

“JJ was married,” she snapped, feeling her cheeks heat. Clearly, she was never going to rise above this.

“I know,” he growled back, brows descending. “But I felt alone and rejected. And she made it seem like… her feelings had always been there. Like it was meant to be. I wanted to believe that. It wasn’t my finest hour.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

His face creased in frustration, and then he cemented it by running his fingers roughly through his hair. “Why are you still so angry about this? You know that nothing ever came of that. When you told me it was a selfish choice, I listened. I should’ve been more proactive about it, sure, but it was hard for me to accept that Jen was just using me to work through a midlife crisis.”

“I’m still angry about it because it broke my heart.” The words lashed out of her and sliced them both deeply and suddenly, and they both sat back in their seats afterwards. Reid stared, gape-mouthed, for a handful of seconds, and then he leaned forward again.

“Why?”

Emily laughed, and it was terrible, hurtful, full of shame. “Because I was waiting for you the way you were waiting for me.”

Reid froze in place, his eyes wide and dark behind his lenses. Emily watched him and didn’t try to hide the regret or exhaustion any longer. This was pointless now – six years behind them – but it still hurt as much as the moment she decided to leave, and she didn’t want to carry it around anymore.

“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered, sadly shaking her head.

“It _does_ matter,” he growled and tried to reach for her hand on the table. But she pulled it away before he could grasp it, fumbling for her wallet in her jacket pocket instead.

“This is why I didn’t want to get into the past tonight. There’s no point. We can’t change anything that happened.” 

She flipped out too many bills and dropped them on the table. She couldn’t hang around any longer, but she also wasn’t going to make him pick up the check either. 

“I just wanted to hear you were happy. That’s all. And you are – a successful author and teacher. Just… go back to L.A. and keep doing that. Forget about tonight. We met in the rain and wished each other well. _That’s_ how today should’ve ended, okay?”

Standing quickly, she heard him shuffling after her. But she didn’t turn to look.

“Em-”

“Bye, Spence. I’m proud of you.”

She walked away, flashing a brief smile to their server who raised her eyebrow questioningly. Then she was out in the cool, autumn night with the smell of wet leaves and a hint of rain on the wind. The diner door slammed open loudly behind her. She shook herself and started walking.

“Emily!”

“Let it go,” she murmured over her shoulder, but not loud enough for him to hear.

“Em, stop. Wait up…” 

He grabbed her arm and spun her around. The strength of it surprised her and she gasped. He immediately seemed sorry and loosened his grip but didn’t drop his hand. His eyes ducked for a second and then came back pleading with her.

“Why are you running away?”

“Who’s running?” she grumbled defensively, and he huffed at her in frustration, making a cloud of condensation plume up into the darkness over them.

“C’mon, let’s talk about this.”

“What’s to talk about?” she said too hysterically. “We both wanted something, and then spent a dozen years doing _absolutely nothing about it._ And now we’re old, and strangers to one another, finally realizing our regrets, and it’s just fucking embarrassing. Why do we need to discuss that?”

“We need to discuss it because I love you,” he said quietly, and it shut down her hysteria instantly. His other hand reached out and held her arm securely, ensuring that she wouldn’t take off again while he was thinking. “It doesn’t matter how much time has passed. There hasn’t been a day since you left that I haven’t thought of you. You’re not a stranger to me; you’re my constant companion. Writing the book was the best six months of my life because I spent my days talking to you inside my head. I gave myself permission to miss you, to dive down into it and really look at it. And now? After tonight? All I can think about is what might have happened if I’d been a little more on the ball back in your office in 2019 and told you then how I felt. Where would we be now?”

Emily shook her head, working up a rebuttal, but he squeezed her arms and bulldozed right over her.

“I’m not embarrassed. We made some mistakes – big ones – but we’re here again right now. And this feels like an opportunity to me.”

He watched her carefully and sharply, waiting to see what she’d do with that. The wind curled around them, blowing their hair around and making them both shiver a little in clothing that was more suited to impress than to the weather. And then something occurred to him. She watched it break over his hopeful expression and turn it into an apology.

“Oh, uh… unless you’re with someone,” he stumbled, gaze shooting to his feet. “I mean, we didn’t get to the part of the conversation about people in our lives _now_ , so…”

“There’s no one,” she said simply, and he glanced at her again, hope edging its way back. “I think having a scruffy stray dog as a best friend proves that I’m a general failure at any kind of relationship. Don’t you?”

“No, I don’t.” He shuffled a step closer. “And Follow’s not scruffy. I think he has flair.”

Emily choked out a reluctant chuckle. _Figures._ Reid took another step and she looked him dead in the eye, bullshit evaporated, and silently asked, _what are you hoping for?_ His hands squeezed her arms and then rubbed soothing lines up and down while they stared at each other.

“And you? Do you have someone?” she whispered, afraid of his answer. But he shook his head slowly.

“Nothing serious,” he murmured. “And no one for over a year now. It’s like I said before: breaking in new people is time-consuming. And it’s such a defeat when you realize you’ve expended all that energy on something that’s not going anywhere.”

He let that drift in the wind around them, staring as if he’d never see her again and was trying to memorize her. She wanted to reach for him, to fall into the easy closeness of their FBI years and allow herself to be comforted. But it was a silly impulse. No matter what he said, they were still strangers. Their lives were headed in different directions. This wasn’t realistic. And yet all she could think about was ‘what if’, and whether her inability to form connections with others was because Spencer Reid lived rent-free inside her since the Benjamin Cyrus case and blocked anyone else from laying down roots.

“I’m so tired of screwing up,” she whispered after a long, silent moment between them.

His lips pinched, and he nodded in understanding. Then he slowly pulled her against him and waited for her to ease into it. When she did, his hands curled across her back and continued rubbing soothing lines there. After a moment, he nuzzled down and rested his chin on her shoulder, breathing out deeply with relief. She squeezed him close as well, sinking into comfort of it, rocking them gently where they stood.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Me too. I wish I’d been braver.”

“All that time…” she breathed into his sweater. “It feels like such a waste.”

“It’s not that simple, Em.” He turned, and she felt his breath brush her ear, making her shiver a little more. “I loved that time – I loved working with you. I loved the job, even with its horrors and losses. I won’t give up any of that simply because this one thing went so wrong.”

“And you think… somehow… we have a shot at making it right?” 

She didn’t see that possibility. Things were different now. And they weren’t young anymore. This sort of thing was the province of the young, the type of amusing madness that only happened in movies. Real people didn’t succeed at this, not after the credits rolled anyway.

He pulled back a little, just enough to see her eyes. It was the closest he’d even been with her, and she held her breath, waiting.

“We had our time together, and it felt like it was complete: a beginning, a middle, and an end. You know?”

She nodded.

“But what if the end _wasn’t_ where we were supposed to end? What if there’s more to us? Aren’t you curious about that?”

“Spence,” she shook her head gently, sighing. “I live here, and you live in California…”

“I’m not suggesting it’ll be easy,” he huffed, and one of his hands rose to cradle her jaw. Her body jolted to attention, riveted by the small movement. “But it wouldn’t have been easy trying to do it all those years ago in the Unit either.”

“True,” she said breathlessly, overcome by a need to have him closer. Just a little. Her fingers curled in his sweater.

“Now that we _know_ , I want to try. I’m asking for what I want, finally. It couldn’t be any worse than living with the regret I’ve held for so long about this,” he whispered, knocking his forehead softly against hers. At that range, his eyes seemed huge behind his glasses. “I’m asking for us to try, Emily.”

His eyes slipped closed and he shifted incrementally closer as he breathed out. “What do you say?”

Her fingers dug into his back and she nudged him until their noses brushed. He shivered unambiguously against her, and she allowed a smile to slip free as she closed her eyes and held on. _What do you say? Ready to find out what else you missed while you were busy chasing your career and pretending you didn’t need someone?_ They stayed like that, swaying slightly, as the wind blew around them. In typical New York fashion, no one passing by thought it was remarkable at all.

_Okay…_

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered eventually, brushing her lips across his.

It ignited him, and he groaned, falling against her mouth and clacking their teeth together. Then he kissed her awkwardly, at a bad angle, with the frames of his glasses pinching her. She meeped, shocked by it, and forgot to breathe, something which he seemed to forget as well. He tried to salvage it by pressing harder, moving over her mouth desperately before they popped apart as suddenly as they came together, blinking and gasping, trying to recover. It wasn’t the worst kiss she’d ever had, but it wasn’t great – dry, forced and uncomfortable. She had a sinking feeling that she’d never considered in all the silent years between them: what if they’d never come together because they were incompatible? Instincts could tell you a lot, and Emily valued hers a great deal. If this had been a first date, that kiss would’ve told her, _Nope, not this guy – throw him back…_

“Sorry,” he gusted, eyes flicking worriedly over her expression, seeing her hesitation.

“It’s fine,” she mumbled and wanted to back away without offending him.

He called her name and his other hand flashed to her face to hold her close. There was a flicker of panic over his features that he swallowed back with great effort while she watched. It was fascinating – he could be so interesting when he tried. But compatibility was important, and she’d never been attracted to someone like Reid before. Maybe they were too different on a basic, animal level. Finally, he let out a long, unsteady breath.

“That was bad.”

“Spence…”

“No, it was.” 

His fingers held her a little more securely, and he licked his lips. Then one of his thumbs stroked a line across her cheekbone, back and forth, hypnotizing her desire to move, and he looked her in the eye.

“I apologize,” he murmured seriously. “That got away from me. I’ve been imagining what it would be like to kiss you for almost twenty years. But I know I can do better.”

He leaned in again and this time met her lips gently, breathlessly. Just a delicate pull before releasing with an almost imperceptible sigh. It was so different, Emily froze on the spot in confusion. 

_What the…_

Then he pressed in again, warm and soft, brushing his hands into her hair and making her sigh at the pleasant shock of it. His lips curved against hers, perhaps in a smile, and then he coaxed her until she opened, slotting in with a hum. She pulled him in then, giving herself permission to admit she wanted it, making it about them rather than just him. She tilted towards him, changing their angle, her hands skimming up his back to hold him close. He pulled away briefly, but his tongue flicked the crest of her lips, then his mouth nipped hers while he stared, fascinated. A lick and a nip, over and over, and she sighed as she moved with him, giving back what he gave her.

 _That’s better…_

He took her mouth firmly then, breathing with the staggered excitement he’d had at first, but now with more confidence. And since she knew what he was holding back, how reckless it could make him, she was suddenly flushed and excited right back, fingers gripping him too close for a kiss on a Manhattan sidewalk. She did her own coaxing, asking him for more and receiving deep, eager pulls in return. He moaned gently, and it broke her heart a little that something so commonplace meant so much to him. One of her hands curled up to cup his jaw, and he leaned into that touch as thoroughly as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. Then he curled her as close as he could, shivering against her, lost in what they’d created out of a mistake.

 _Wow. Okay…_

They shuddered apart, breathing a little harder but neither letting the other go far. Emily glanced up into his rosy expression, as he blinked rapidly behind his glasses, and she resisted the urge to ask him if it was worth the twenty-year wait. It was worth it to her; she’d never been kissed that way by a guy with all his clothes on looking at her the way Reid was. Dammit, if they failed at this, it was gonna hurt like hell. He shivered again, and she snuggled him closer.

“Cold?” she whispered. He wasn’t wearing a coat.

“Yeah.”

“We could go to my place. It’s not far from here…”

His eyebrows rose.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, her cheeks burning. “Just to get out of the wind. Unless you have to get some sleep. For whatever’s on your schedule tomorrow…”

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said softly.

“What? No…”

He nodded. “Princeton, then Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington, and some stops in the southern states before home to California at the end of the month. It’s the end of the tour, and I agreed to a breakneck schedule because I knew I’d be eager to get it over with and back to teaching,” he sighed. “I didn’t know this was going to happen.”

He knocked his head against hers and closed his eyes. She huffed in frustration and then nipped his mouth to get his attention back.

“Come back to my condo. To talk, to get to know each other a little again… I just want some time. A little more time.”

He took her lips gently for a long, shared breath. It made her feel weightless and wanted at the same time.

“When you have to leave, my driver will take you to the airport,” she murmured when they parted.

“Train station. I’m taking the train.”

“Of course, you are,” she smirked. “Why fly when it’s only quicker and cheaper, right?”

“Good to know time hasn’t dulled your sarcasm,” he smiled, and brushed his lips to her forehead. “Now, show me where you live, so I can profile the hell out of you.”

She slapped his shoulder lightly and then pulled him along the sidewalk away from the diner. He wrapped an arm around her, tucking her against him and warming them both as they walked into the evening wind. Looping an arm around his waist, she relaxed with how easy it was, how uncomplicated it felt despite their problems. They walked in silence for a while then she felt his mouth buss the side of her face.

“I’ve missed you too. So much,” he murmured, and she pulled him a little closer. “There’s so much to tell you.”


	14. Chapter 14

And there was a lot to tell, too much for one evening. Emily burst with things to ask, and then felt weighed down by the answers, as if she were devouring them without stopping to taste them first. He was working his way towards another doctorate, having gained his masters in particle physics at CalTech. He spent a whole hour sitting on her sofa, scratching Follow who slept on him, explaining the idea behind his thesis – none of which she understood. But the grin he wore while he talked was enough, as if delighted to have someone to tell. She imagined he didn’t have too many opportunities to bore ‘new’ people with his geekiness; it was an acquired taste and he knew it. 

He’d taken up swimming, as he mentioned earlier, but also skateboarding. “Longboarding”, he corrected with a frown when she questioned it, laughing. He claimed it started as an efficient way to get around campus, and then it turned into something he enjoyed for its own sake.

“Plus, my students think it’s cool. Or odd. Either way, it nets me some respect with them,” he shrugged as Emily leaned back into the couch pillows and guffawed. “Could you stop laughing? I’m actually quite good at it. It’s the most graceful I’ve ever been as a human. I’m proud of myself.”

He pouted a little, and she apologized, trying to keep her hilarity internal as she pictured him zipping through the CalTech campus on a mini surfboard with wheels, hands in his pockets, deep in thought, and with his tie fluttering behind him.

He’d had two substantial relationships. One with a woman he met in a grocery store in San Jose while first visiting Hotch, and one with another professor at CalTech. The first made him obviously uncomfortable when speaking about her.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Emily said, laying a hand on his arm until he looked up and saw the truth of her statement. 

It wasn’t that she was being particularly generous, but more that she didn’t want to imagine him in it, trying to forge his new life completely where Emily had failed to do the same. He said it was important, so she relented. The woman from San Jose, Callie, turned out to be too much like JJ, and he eventually recognized that he’d found a substitute to play out what he could never have with her. He twisted as he admitted to it, his face going red and Follow whining a little at the tension he could feel next to him.

“She was pretty upset when I ended it with her,” he frowned, staring at his fingers skimming through Follow’s fur. “She thought it was really going somewhere. But once I saw what I was doing, I couldn’t un-see it, you know? And JJ and I have never recovered from that last year in D.C. I realized that the JJ I fell for when I was younger wasn’t there anymore. I mean, I _love_ her, but I don’t really _like_ her anymore. And I saw those same qualities in Callie. As soon as that happened, it was over in my mind.”

Emily absorbed that for a moment. “JJ alluded to some of this the last time I saw her, but I didn’t know it was quite… all of that.” 

She gestured in a sweeping circle that brought up both Reid and Follow’s head in attention. Reid sighed.

“Yeah. I can’t talk to JJ any longer. That mistake was so big it sorta sucks the oxygen out of any conversation we try to have. I don’t want to get into it with her – it’s in the past – but there’s a lot there that will never get resolved, and she resents that I won’t engage with it.”

Emily shuffled in her spot on the couch and couldn’t believe what she was thinking. “But… _shouldn’t_ you resolve it? I mean, if you did, you could salvage your friendship with her.”

He looked at her for a long time in silence, expression twitching with things that occurred to him that he chose not to voice. All Emily could think was, _How am I different from JJ, Spence? Why are you chasing down a second chance with me but not her?_

“You can’t go back,” he sighed when he made up his mind to speak. “It would never be over, even if we hashed it out. It would always be there lying between us. You can’t… try for more and then settle for less. At least I can’t.”

“Sounds like you’re disappointed you couldn’t be with her,” she said haltingly, turning away from him for the first time since they sat down. “It sounds like you’re punishing her because it couldn’t happen – because you had to ‘settle’. Like I did to you in 2019.”

Emily swallowed hard and felt ashamed. 

“No, Emily.” He leaned forward as his eyes got worried. “It’s not like that. I’m not punishing Jen because we couldn’t be together. And that was _my choice_ , not hers, by the way. So, there’d be no one to punish but myself if that were the case. But you’re right that I’m disappointed.”

She looked at him and he waited for her full attention before he spoke. “I’m disappointed that she wasn’t who I thought she was all those years. The Jen I loved wouldn’t still be upset about _not_ having an extramarital affair six years ago. And maybe it’s petty for me to judge her like that, especially since I spent time considering doing it, but my opinion of her has changed and… and we just can’t go back. That’s it.”

There was an uncomfortable silence then that could only be broken by the obvious question.

“Why am I different, Spencer?” she whispered, and he looked like she’d punched him. “I lied about how I felt too, almost as long as JJ did. I refused to be understanding about your decision, and tanked our friendship as a result, just like Jen. I told you I’d always be there for you – you pointed it out in your book dedication – but I let you down. You _must_ think less of me for that, if nothing else.” She sighed shakily. “It seems like the only difference is that I’m available now and JJ never will be.”

Their friendship had been based in frankness, and if she hadn’t always been forthright with him, she was being so now when the stakes were critical. What she felt was convoluted, but it would only get more complicated with time. It was better to speak plainly about them than to have him realize he’d made another mistake like Callie six months from now. He just stared at her, blinking, with his mouth hanging open a little.

“You said you didn’t want to keep reliving the same fifteen years of your life over and over…” she mumbled when he didn’t say anything.

“Are you kidding me?” he whispered after a moment.

“Not at all. We’re too old to kid about this shit.”

He shuffled forward on the sofa, disturbing Follow with a growl as he lifted the barnacle-pooch and placed him on a cushion away from both him and Emily. Then he reached for her, anxious lines creasing deep into his face. His hand found her arm and pulled slightly, as if he thought she would run away again.

“The difference is I love you,” he confirmed.

“You loved JJ too.”

He shook his head. “I loved _an idea_ of her. I spent twelve years _knowing_ you, Emily, and another six years missing the woman I knew. I thought about the places we’d go together. I imagined the inappropriate thing you’d say when I asked you to marry me. I pictured what our kids would look like-”

She took a sudden breath as the panic settled in. “That’s just fantasizing as well. It’s no different,” she blurted, pulse pounding in her throat.

“Okay… well…” he swallowed visibly, and his eyebrows lowered. “Here’s something I’ve never admitted before. When JJ told me how she felt, I realized she was attainable. And I didn’t want to be alone forever…” He swallowed again and choked, his hand squeezing her arm hard. “So, I considered being with her because… I’d never be able to be with you.”

Emily sat there and watched his eyes flick to her, and away, over and over as he waited for her reaction. But she felt immovable, bogged down by a lifetime of thinking she was never good enough – by men, her bosses, her mother…

“I’m not proud of the impulse. But better to have a little happiness than none at all,” he said, but didn’t sound sure. She remembered him in her office that day back in 2019: _Maybe I deserve a little happiness too. I mean, why not me?_ Jesus.

“I’m not the person you’ve made me out to be in your mind, Spence,” she shook her head and tried to get free of his grip. But he held on. “You think you know me better than you knew JJ, but I’m not so special as to be unattainable. If you hold me up that high, you don’t really see me for the fuck-up I am – that’s no different than the illusion you painted over JJ.”

“Oh, I see your fuck-ups, believe me.” He frowned, and his gaze got hard. “I saw you make the wrong choice about Ian Doyle, and I lived through the consequences of that: carrying your casket at your funeral and grieving like my heart had been ripped from me, bleeding out and suffocating for months afterwards.”

She gasped again, but he kept holding her arm.

“I saw you promise us all to stay when you came back, and watched you give up on that and run away to London. I saw you move in with Mark, take up with Mendoza, and carry on with others who were _all_ the exact opposite of me. I’m not deluded, Emily – I damn-well see you for who you are.”

She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t deny any of it, but his kind of clear-sightedness wasn’t in keeping with his idea that she was who he wanted all along. A fantasy figure with a trail of broken things in her wake. Why would he want that? His brows eased, the frown receded, and after a painfully awkward moment of silent staring, he lifted his other hand to hesitantly brush his fingers along her jaw and into her hair.

“I… I saw it all, and I wanted you anyway. I couldn’t help it,” he choked quietly. “I knew it was really you that compelled me – not the fantasy you accuse me of having – because you frustrated and hurt me, as much as you delighted me and made me feel special, and it was all tangled together in a crazy knot for me to love. I don’t know if that’s how this stuff is supposed to work, but I know it’s the best I’ve ever felt, and no one else has ever moved me as much.” His thumb stroked a line back and forth gently in her hair. “You can call that a fantasy if you want, but we wouldn’t be here arguing over whether we have a shot at a future or not if all of this just lived inside my head.”

Emily sighed and ducked away from his urgent stare, his fingers sliding further into her hair in the process. He shuffled a little closer until their knees bumped. Follow whined softly behind them.

“You’re different, okay?” he whispered.

She looked up and her whole view was him and his anxiety that all of this was over before it began. She watched him in silence, lines set deep around his mouth and the corners of his eyes. Raising a hand slowly, she found herself tracing one line gently. His lips parted but he said nothing, barely breathing at the strange exploration, and her fingers kept moving. Across the rim of his lower lip, circling down to the dip of his chin, and then back up to the lines that lit up when he laughed. She watched her fingers and not him, enjoying the intimacy selfishly.

“There were so many times I could’ve said something,” she mumbled to her roving fingers. “So many chances to be happy. Or miserable, I guess…”

“Em…” he breathed.

“I’m a coward.”

“Emily…”

“No, I am,” she shook her head slightly, still watching her fingers brush over him. “Even now, I’m calculating all the ways this could fail. It’s just… always been easier to avoid disappointment than to experience it.” 

Her fingers stilled and then she found herself looking him in the eye. “I’m fifty-four years old and I’ve never been truly happy. I think… maybe I don’t know _how_. I mean, Follow’s the closest thing I’ve had to a committed relationship in a decade.”

Follow made an interested noise at the sound of his name, and then snuffled until he wedged his nose between Reid’s hip and the sofa cushions.

“I’ve led a pretty selfish life, Spencer,” she continued quietly. “But one of my finer impulses is that, no matter what, I’ve wanted you to be happy. Truly. I’ve never met someone who deserves it more.”

Reid swallowed something down. “Thank you,” he murmured cautiously.

“I’m just not sure, after so many years of denying it, that I can switch gears and give you what you deserve,” she whispered, finding it hard to admit.

Reid’s hand tightened in her hair. “What we _both_ deserve. You are owed as well, Emily.”

“But _I don’t know how._ ” It barely made a sound coming out of her, and she felt her expression collapse. He ducked in and pressed his lips to her cheek. 

“How could I _not know how_ to be happy?” she asked with a swirl of panic. “Who goes through life that way?”

“Steady, Em,” he whispered into her cheek. “I think you just decide to wing it. That’s all.”

“But ‘winging it’ is what got me here: alone and hyper-defensive in my middle-age.” She pulled back to look at him again. “I _can’t_ screw up here. Not when you’re the only person who’s made me feel-”

Her mouth clamped shut and she felt her face heat. She hadn’t meant to say anything close to that. It felt like another exposed failing, except this one was written large: you’re the only one who’s meant anything, and I can’t even bring myself to say it.

Reid blinked behind his glasses, most likely thinking a bunch of random things at once. But when he spoke again, he was measured, surprising Emily. It was another way he’d changed over time: his ability to moderate his expectations towards reality.

“I can’t give you confidence about this,” he said quietly, holding her face. “Or give you any assurance that we’ll succeed. I realize what I’m suggesting is complicated for a whole host of reasons, not the least of which is that neither one of us appears to know how to give ourselves away to another.”

He stared for a long moment after that, looking serious and professorial, and not the least bit like the shy kid she once knew. _You grew up so much, Spence…_

“All I’m offering… all I’m saying is: I’m here for this, for you. If you want to take the risk.”

He leaned close on the sofa and waited her out. After a long moment there was a distinct thump-thump-thump sound, and both she and Reid looked at Follow, who was smooshed against the cushions, his tail batting them happily as his eyes flicked between them. Reid made a questioning sound and Follow wriggled between him and the sofa back until his whole face came into view. Then he panted as if they were all about to do something exciting together.

“I don’t get-” Reid started, but Emily turned him back to face her and kissed him instead. He made the same questioning sound against her lips, but then softened into it and let her do what she wanted. When she pulled back with a soft slip, he breathed deeply and said, “What was that for?”

“That’s because you’re beautiful and weird and wonderful. And because you’ve been brave tonight and given me a lot to think about.”

“So… what are you telling me?”

“I’m telling you…” she sighed, and then smiled. “I need to mull it over. Get right with it in my head. But my instinct is to try, Spencer. I know it’s ridiculous to say I need more time at this point, but it’s been a helluva day, hasn’t it?”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a sudden smirk. “It has been quite a day.”

“So, we mutually decide to ‘wing it’ and see what happens?” she asked. “Knowing that we’re both terrible at this sort of thing?”

She smiled but was tense. He’d declared a lot more than a soft intention to her, and she hadn’t exactly met him halfway.

“Yeah, I’ll take that,” he said quietly, hand soothing up and down her arm. “No guarantees. I understand.”

“Thank you, Spence,” she gusted, and then leaned in to kiss the rest against his mouth. “That makes me so happy.”

She felt him smile back and then both of them were shellacked by Follow’s tongue along the side of their faces. Emily popped away with a, “Ewwww, Follow!”, while Reid turned to the dog in shock and got another lavish lick right across his mouth as payment. Emily leaned back and laughed loudly as Reid tried to wipe the saliva away with one hand while holding Follow at bay with the other.

“What!” he sputtered.

“Oh man, he’s trying to impress you. That dog has a mancrush…”

“Mancrush?” Reid looked scandalized. “No…”

Follow wriggled into Reid’s lap and then climbed his chest with his front paws trying to land another tongue-washing. Reid pushed back and gripped him so he couldn’t wiggle free, but he also scratched his scruff while pondering him.

“Animals don’t like me.”

“Follow is a rule-breaker,” Emily chuckled proudly, watching them wrestle each other. “And he’s all about the love.”

As if on cue, Follow flipped in Reid’s lap and revealed his stomach, tail wagging dangerously as he waited for the anticipated belly-rubs. Reid hesitantly obliged him but Follow just leaned back and whined happily as Reid’s fingers traced through his belly fur.

“They say dogs pick up on their owners’ moods. They get happy when their humans are happy, they get sad when their people are down,” Emily murmured. “I guess he’s figured out how I feel about you.”

Reid looked up at her. “You want to lick my face?”

“Maybe.” 

She flicked him a quick wink. Reid grinned, his cheeks getting pink while she watched, and then he leaned towards her for a kiss she halted with a palm across his chest. He looked confused. 

“Wash your face first,” she whispered. He rolled his eyes, and then wrestled himself free from Follow with great effort, eventually heading for the closest sink.

“I thought that’s why we had the dog around,” he grumbled. 

Emily fell back against the cushions and laughed, wrestling with Follow when his amorousness suddenly shifted to her.


	15. Chapter 15

When her alarm buzzed in the morning, Emily struggled to silence it, being tangled under a mess of dog and gangly best friend on her couch. Follow snuffled sleepily, turning once to find a new position between her and Reid, and then flopping down in a huff and falling asleep again almost instantly. Reid shuffled in his sleep along the sofa cushions but didn’t wake. He was pressed to Emily’s side, stretched long, and with his head resting awkwardly on her shoulder. It must have been uncomfortable, but he was soundly asleep anyway. Emily watched him in the thin light and felt an old joy resurrect itself. How many cases had they fallen asleep like this in a PD break room or a hotel lobby somewhere? How many times had they woken up, disentangled themselves with yawns and mumblings about coffee without a second thought? Who else had she done that with? No one.

She lifted her hand and gently brushed his hair from his face, mesmerized as the flecks of grey disappeared into the lighter shades of brown. Then she let her fingertips trail down his temple, over his cheek, and down to his jawline and the invisible buzz of his stubble there. His eyes popped open, and he blinked until he could focus on her features. Perhaps she was blurry – he didn’t have his glasses on. Then he licked his lips as he watched her, eyes serious though the rest of him was lazy with sleep. Emily leaned in and slowly slotted her lips to his. He slipped against her, finding her lower lip and pulling it between his for a languid wake-up that they both tried to stretch out as long as possible. When they came apart they both sighed, and he leaned into her hand where it cupped him.

“When does your train leave?” she murmured.

“Seven-thirty.” He looked at her like he didn’t want to leave. It was six a.m.

“The car service will be here at six forty-five.”

He nodded. “I’ll need to go to my hotel to collect my bag.”

“It’ll be fine. John will get you there – he’s a sorcerer when it comes to Manhattan traffic.”

Silence descended as they stared. Follow eventually huffed and kicked out his back leg, narrowly missing Reid’s thigh. But Reid couldn’t drag his gaze away from her.

“May I call you tonight after my event?” he whispered. “I’d like to keep talking, even if we’re in different states.”

“Of course,” she said, caught off guard by the diffidence. “I’ll be home after seven. But you can call anytime.”

“Okay. And, ummm… your number?”

She tried to shrug it off, but she felt her face heating. “It’s still the same one.”

She wondered if he still had it, then he shuffled in his pant pocket until he fished out his phone. His fingers flicked quickly across it, squinting hard at the screen without his glasses, and then he put it away again. He looked back at her but didn’t say anything. Emily raised her eyebrows, but then her phone beeped on the coffee table. The screen lit up with a text from a random number: _I’ll call tonight. Promise._

“Now you have my number,” he said, and she smiled.

“Pretty smooth, genius.”

“It happens now and again.” He raised his hand and drew her back to face him. “I want to hear about you tonight. All the stuff I’ve missed. Okay?”

“Okay,” she breathed. “It’s not exciting though. No new degrees or anything like that.”

“You’re not the best judge of what’s fascinating about you,” he smirked as he leaned up and over her, kissing her quickly and then leaping away from a growling Follow, who objected to the sudden removal of Reid’s warmth. “Besides, we have to fill in the blanks somehow.”

He picked up his glasses from the table and looked himself over. “Wow. I am littered in dog hair…”

“That’s how he claims you,” Emily chuckled. “He did the same thing to me the first night I let him stay. No matter how much I clean, I don’t have a single item without some Follow hair on it somewhere. I can’t get away from him.”

Follow looked at her when he heard his name and began thumping his tail happily. She reached out and ruffled his scruff. “Dumb dog.”

“Smart,” Reid corrected. “I wish I could lay a claim so easily…”

Emily glanced at him, surprised by his obviousness. Then she thought about it and picked up her phone. 

“You have.” She wiggled the phone at him. “You’ve already texted me. It’s like digital dog hair – you can harass me with impunity now. Just like Follow.”

A strange, knowing smile broke across his face, and she felt herself smiling back.

“Alright, you’re on,” he said quietly, and left it at that.

Forty minutes later as he stood at her front door, submitting to her lint-rolling him within an inch of his life while Follow danced around his feet, he murmured, “I won’t kiss you goodbye.”

She stopped rolling and stood up, wondering what to say to that.

“It’ll be harder for me to leave if I do that,” he clarified. “Not knowing when we’ll meet again.”

She shook off the sting of that and tried to adopt some of his optimism. “We’ll find a way. Or it’ll find us,” she said, nodding with finality as she fiddled with the roller. “We’ve gotta calm down a little about this, right? We’re winging it.”

“Yeah,” he said too softly, and his eyes seemed huge when he looked at her. He was holding his hands together, skin stretched pale over fingers laced too tightly. She shrugged it off and fussed with Follow, trying to get him to settle and explaining that Reid wasn’t about to take him for a walk.

“Call me later,” she said when the car service texted its arrival and Reid stood in the threshold glancing back over his shoulder.

“I will,” he promised, staring a little too long before shaking himself into action and shuffling down the hallway.

Follow whined loudly when she shut the door, separating him from his newest love.

“He’ll be back,” she mumbled with uncertainty that Follow must have picked up on because he spent the rest of their morning prep time staring mournfully at the front door.

“Honestly, buddy,” she said, exasperated, collecting her things for work. “Get your head back in the game. We have work to do. He’s just a guy…”

Follow hrumpfed, and even Emily didn’t believe herself, but she hustled them both out of the condo to catch the subway to work and back to real life.

She was standing on the platform when the first text arrived: _Dog hair. You didn’t get it all._

She grinned and felt far too overjoyed to be standing in the New York subway suffering a service delay.

_Prentiss: More vigorous brushing was required. Obviously._

She waited, wondering if this was the start of something. Then her phone beeped, and she knew it was. Follow looked up at her and she winked at him. “It’s your man checking in, buddy.” Follow wagged his tail. 

_Reid: How vigorous? Were you taking it easy on me? I felt manhandled._

_Prentiss: Extreme vigor was required. You might have had to strip, honestly. You only get satisfying results if you put considerable effort into it._

_Reid:… are we still talking about dog hair?_

_Prentiss: Not entirely._

_Prentiss: btw, Follow pouted at the door after you left. You can’t spend a night getting handsy with him and then leave him high & dry. He has a reputation to maintain, you know…_

_Reid: That’s not fair. HE kissed ME. I just wanted to be friends._

Emily laughed out loud, ensuring that New Yorkers subtly shifted away from her in case she was a well-dressed lunatic.

_Reid: I wanted to kiss you._

_Reid: I still do. It’s all I’ve been thinking about since I left._

Her pulse took a moment to pound loudly in her throat until she got it under control again.

“Christ, how are we going to manage this?” she mumbled to herself.

_Prentiss: I wanted you to as well._

_…_

_…_

_Reid: Can I really bother you as often as I want?_

_Prentiss: Yes. I’ll tell you if I can’t talk at the moment. But, yes. Please bother me._

_Reid: Alright._

_Reid: I’m excited, Em. The prospect of this is exciting._

She reread the last message three times feeling incrementally better each time.

_Prentiss: I’m excited too. And I’m trying not to be a weirdo about it. But.. you know… I’m a weirdo._

_Reid: Hahaha! That’s part of why I love you, you know…_

“Please stop saying that, Spence,” she grumbled. “You’re making me feel guilty about not saying it back.” Did she want to say it back? She spaced out as she considered that. Follow cocked his head to the side as she stared at him. Her phone beeped.

_Reid: Don’t freak out._

“How does he even _know?_ she said as her fingers flicked over the screen.

_Prentiss: I feel like you’re watching me_

_Reid: I’m not. I just know you well._

_Reid: I’ve made a decision to say what I feel, but I don’t expect you to mirror that back. We’ve been apart 6 yrs. I know it’s rash to say I love you right now. I don’t care. But if it makes you feel weird, just tell me to cool it._

_Prentiss: I don’t want you to cool it. I don’t want you to stifle your honesty. That’s what got us into this mess to begin with. I just feel bad that I can’t say something back. Because I’m confused about how I’m feeling._

_Reid: Confused?_

_Prentiss: There’s guilt over the things I’ve done. Over how I treated you & JJ. I even feel guilty that you chose me over her._

_Prentiss: See? Weirdo._

_Reid: Don’t feel guilt over that. It was never a contest._

_Prentiss: Spence, I HATED her for years over this. I hated my friend. I didn’t know that you two weren’t together until last year. It’s a terrible feeling to be jealous & unable to get over it._

_Reid: YOU THOUGHT WE WERE TOGETHER UNTIL LAST YEAR???_

_Prentiss: Yes. I found out I was wrong at Rossi’s Xmas party. JJ told me. #irony_

_Reid: We were NEVER together, Em. Never._

_Prentiss: I know that now, S, but I didn’t know for a long time. I left to give you space to have what you wanted, without my jealousy everywhere._

_Reid: I wanted YOU. I wanted you to stay. I wanted to be your friend again so badly I couldn’t see straight._

_Prentiss: Please, S. This is part of why I feel confused. I hurt people I care about – I didn’t mean to, but I did. I can’t get over that in a day._

_Reid: Okay. Yeah, I get it. Just… wow._

_Prentiss: I know, rite?_

_…_

_Prentiss: The subway’s finally here. Gotta go. Talk later?_

_Reid: K_

She pocketed her phone and sighed as she watched the train pull into the station. She hustled Follow onto the overpacked car, waving away a bunch of commuter grumbles about a dog on transit during rush hour. She was late for work and distracted, and she remained that way for the rest of the day. It had taken Spencer Reid less than twenty-four hours to turn her life upside down again.

*END OF PART 4*


	16. Chapter 16

They took turns calling each other, and it quickly became the thing her days revolved around. She told him about working at Pendleton, and he told her how much he enjoyed teaching. They shared stories about the team members they kept in touch with: Hotch had developed a strange obsession with gardening, and Lewis wrote a hilarious, masked blog about her private practice.

“That can’t be ethical,” Reid huffed over the phone.

“I dunno, she makes the entries so opaque, I’m pretty sure even her own patients wouldn’t recognize themselves. If they could find it in the first place. But it’s my new favorite distraction, I can tell you that. Oh, and Rossi comments all the time. It’s priceless. He’s like a profiling troll…”

“We’re turning into the people we used to qualify as ‘suspect’ back in the day,” he grumbled, but Emily just laughed.

He told her about the professor he dated at CalTech, Petra. Unlike Callie, his description of her was easy and warm, making Emily feel uneasy in response.

“Petra is nice, and we had fun for a while. Though it took us almost three months to figure out our excitement wasn’t solely based in discussions about higher order mathematics,” he chuckled. “Nerds, you know…”

Emily tried to smile even though he couldn’t see it. “So, what happened?”

Reid sighed. “Same as Callie, in a way. It just stalled. We both agreed that we liked each other and it was good. But at some point, we both realized that ‘good’ was all it was ever going to be. We both wanted something more than that, and just couldn’t get it from one another. We mutually decided to break it off, and after a time, we managed to remain friends. I mean, we still see each other at faculty meetings and stuff. I have coffee with her every so often. We’re okay. She’s been dating some guy from the French Lit department for a while now…”

“Oh,” Emily mumbled, feeling awkward around her pointless jealousy towards a total stranger.

“Are you upset? You sound upset,” he said after a moment.

“No, not really. I know we’re busy getting to know each other again and being honest, but I feel awkward thinking about you with someone else. It’s just my stupid, unevolved shit – ignore it.”

“Well,” he huffed. “There can be equal-opportunity awkwardness here: tell me about _your_ relationships.”

“C’mon, Spence, do you really want to know about that?”

“Yes and no. But, yes. I want to know what your life has been like, and that includes the people you spent time with, even if it makes me jealous,” he said.

“Okay…”

She told him about Rick – that was the most substantive relationship. The others she labelled as casual, as they were, and barely gave them lip service.

“I don’t like him,” Reid said darkly when she finished.

“Well, as it turned out, neither did I. After him, Follow pretty much became my main squeeze.”

“Hmmm.”

She waited. “So? Are _you_ upset?”

“Yes,” he said definitively. “That I’ll have to compete with a dog to get your attention.”

She laughed loudly, leaning back into her sofa while Follow cocked his head sideways in confusion. She could hear Reid chuckling across the line as well.

“Follow has set the bar way too high. I feel doomed to fail,” he continued. “It’s not fair. I’m volcanically jealous of a guy who drinks out of the toilet bowl.”

His voice was so petulant, she lost it, throwing the phone onto the couch and letting the laughter take her for a while. It was a relief and a surprise. In the past, Reid would’ve held onto his insecurity and gone inward with it, shutting her out. Now, he laughed off what he couldn’t change, putting it into perspective instead. 

Reid called out from the phone, and Follow nosed it, whining in confusion. “Oh, that’s wonderful. You’ve left me to deal with your furry boyfriend who’s _in the room with you._ ”

Emily kept laughing and Follow looked like he was about to leave until humans began to make more sense.

“Follow,” Reid called out from the abandoned phone. “You had your chance. Now it’s time for the guy with opposable thumbs to have a shot.”

Follow grumbled, circled around on the sofa, and lay down, tucking his nose to his tail and ignoring everyone. 

When Emily woke the next morning, her sides hurt. A lot of their conversations ended that way: with silliness and a lingering sense of companionship. It was fun and familiar, but sometimes Emily wondered how different it was from the friendship they once had. Reid said he gave up on his relationships because he’d wanted something elusively ‘more’. But what was that, and did they have it? Emily didn’t know how to tackle the question.

Reid turned out to be a prolific texter, which she found amusing. She remembered when he was the last person on the planet still using a flip phone, and the day Garcia accidentally-on-purpose sat on it so she could set him up with something that would accept her emoji-littered messages instead. He’d given her the evil eye for weeks afterwards. 

One morning, after an extensive evening call the night before that had been more of the same easy companionship that left her slightly confused about what they were doing, he sent her a photo of his feet in garish, mismatched socks under grey dress pants.

_Reid: Do these match?_

_Prentiss: Of course they don’t_

_Reid: No, I mean, do they go with my pants?_

_Prentiss: Are you seriously asking me to pick out your clothes for you? You’re 46 yrs old._

_Prentiss: Are you nervous or something?_

_Reid: Yes. It’s Georgetown. Bureau people will probably show up to the reading. At the very least Garcia promised to be there._

_Prentiss: Well then, you’ll be alright. She’ll die defending you. Attacking hecklers with glitter._

_Prentiss: You’ll be fine, S. The book is good. REAL._

_Reid: The Bureau hates it._

_Prentiss: Too bad. You don’t work for them anymore. Any seasoned agent would recognize the truth of what you wrote. And since when do you give a damn about dissenting opinions on this? You didn’t write it for professional recognition._

_…_

_Reid: During the Q &A at the Baltimore reading, someone asked me what the dedication was about – was it for my old team, or the FBI, or whatever. I’ve been asked about it before, but this time I told the truth. It became a whole thing for 40 mins after that._

_Prentiss: What do you mean ‘a whole thing’?_

_Reid: I said that I wrote the book to tell someone I love them. That got tweeted, and then the Baltimore Sun mentioned it in a review. Now, I’m worried that it dilutes the message._

_Reid: Maybe no one paid attention to a local lit review so long after something was published. I’m probably worrying for nothing. Garcia already texted about it tho._

_…_

Emily sat staring at her phone, stunned. He’d told a collection of strangers that he’d written his book for her, and then discussed it for nearly an hour. She felt strangely tight all over, and a thin flare of panic ignited within her. It felt a little like a violation and a lot like she was losing control of where they were going.

_Prentiss: But… is that really true, Spencer? You didn’t write it FOR me, did you?_

_Reid: Yeah, I did._

_…_

_Prentiss: I don’t know what to say._

_Reid: You don’t have to say anything. You read it. That’s what counts._

_Prentiss: But reacting also counts, S._

_Reid: Maybe._

Maybe? How was he so calm about this? There was an inevitability to his tone that she didn’t feel. She was still struggling with whether their vibe was more than an intimate companionship and what she’d do if it was nothing more than that, and he was busy telling strangers that he loved her. What was his idea of love anyway? Was this it: a close connection with limited affection? He hadn’t even tried to get suggestive with her yet. Her phone beeped again.

_Reid: I guess I should also apologize that I said that publicly, tho I didn’t mention you by name._

_Reid: But Garcia’s figured it out. She asked if I was still hung up on JJ, & when that theory fizzled, she jumped to the obvious conclusion & then spiralled with it in her usual zeal._

“Well, at least he’s realized he might have overstepped,” she grumbled to herself, trying to shove her rising anxiety back.

_Prentiss: That explains all the crying girlfriends gifs she’s been texting me over the past two days._

_Reid: Sorry._

_Prentiss: Spencer, you’re moving pretty fast. Maybe this won’t be much of a story for the rest of your tour dates, but I wish you hadn’t revealed how personal this is for you._

“Just… take it easy, dude.” Follow looked up at her, thinking she was warning him and seeming confused. 

_Reid: Okay. I’m really sorry. I spoke without thinking. That’s not like me._

_Prentiss: I know. That means you’re happy – I understand that. But it puts pressure on us as well, and we don’t need pressure._

_Reid: Yeah. Okay._

_Prentiss: I’m working to get there, Spencer. I’m trying. But you’re way out in front of me._

“I’m freaking out,” she murmured mournfully, wishing that she was better at this in general, and then irrationally hoping he’d help her deescalate the nerves he wasn’t aware he’d provoked in the first place. 

_…_

_Prentiss: Spence?_

_Reid: I guess I thought… you wouldn’t have to ‘work’ to get there._

_Prentiss: Poor word choice on my part. You know what I mean._

_Reid: No, I don’t actually. I understand that you’re unsure how this will work, & that you feel we don’t know each other as well as we should. But I thought you were excited about this. I thought you wanted it too._

_Prentiss: I do!_

_Reid: Then why are you so hesitant?_

_Prentiss: Because it feels the same as when we worked together._

_Reid: Isn’t that GOOD?_

_Prentiss: It feels like a really close FRIENDSHIP. That kind of love. I’m scared of pushing it and finding out we don’t have any passion._

“What becomes of us then, Spence? You’ve already told me you can’t settle for less, and then you set your expectations astronomically high…” she growled. Follow flattened his ears against his skull.

_…_

_Reid: Because you’re not attracted to me. Physically._

“Jesus. Spencer!” She was yelling at her phone suddenly.

_Prentiss: Spence, no. Don’t do that._

_Reid: It’s not something I haven’t already considered. You never dated anyone who looked even remotely like my body type._

_Prentiss: Christ! It’s not about ‘a type’!_

_Prentiss: What if we suck together??? What if it’s just awful for no reason & we can’t fix it? You told me that you couldn’t settle after trying for something more, S. If we don’t work, I’ll lose you all over again. I only just got you back!_

_Reid: Wow. So, you’ve already decided we’ll fail? When were you gonna tell me this?_

She swore brutally and thumbed her phone too aggressively as she typed back. Typical Reid, turning this into something it wasn’t and then framing it as personal criticism. As far as defense mechanisms went, it was cunning and absolutely infuriating.

_Prentiss: I HAVEN’T DECIDED ANYTHING! But you’re out there declaring love & making public announcements about your heart, and I’m just scared of losing the friend I’ve missed so much._

_Reid: Friend. Okay._

_Reid: Listen Em, I kept my feelings to myself for nearly 2 decades. I’m done with that now. If you really feel we don’t have what it takes, say so. Just own up to it & the consequences. I’m tired of guessing & waiting & hoping._

“Fuck,” she said quietly. 

It wasn’t fair – he was using history against her and putting them on a clock. And he’d skipped right past her fear that she’d lose him if she couldn’t find a way to match his intentions, like it wasn’t relevant. Suddenly, her airy condo felt hot and claustrophobic. She wanted to be outside and running, cool air burning her throat as she gasped and moved as fast as her body could carry her from this moment. But his words on her screen held her trapped, waiting for a response.

_Prentiss: What if I’m not ready?_

_Reid: Then you’re not ready. I go home & you carry on with your life. Nothing changes. Essentially, nothing HAS changed except our knowledge of where we’re at._

_Prentiss: EVERYTHING has changed, Spencer!_

_Reid: You can’t have it both ways, Emily. Either you feel something significant & want to take a risk, or everything is like it’s always been. Stop making it a more complex choice than that._

_Prentiss: You know what? Screw you for making this all reductive and black & white. You know it’s not that simple!_

_Reid: It is for me._

_…_

_Reid: I guess I’m gonna stop now. I have a meeting with the Psychology Chair in 10 mins & then I’ve gotta hunt down whoever the publisher sent here to handle PR._

_Reid: I hope you figure things out, Em. I really do._

Emily stared at his last message and felt nothing. Just numbness and a sense of inexorableness. What did he expect her to do? Declare herself ‘in love’ across the phone one evening, and then continue with platonic conversations for the next six months until both of them realized they _still_ weren’t together and weren’t making any moves in that direction? And his jabs at both his looks and her indecision really rankled her. It felt both dismissive and insulting, as if he was already preparing to diminish her when she rejected them. It would be easy for him to tell himself they could never be because she was a female cliché, helplessly locked into a type that he didn’t fit. It would make them both blameless in their failure; something neither of them could change about themselves.

“Fuck you, Spence,” she growled as she pocketed her phone and yelled for Follow, who stood up at her feet where she’d forgotten him, all worried. “Sorry, buddy. I’m not mad at you.”

Follow wagged his tail uncertainly but trailed her to the door when she got her coat. They had a day to get on with, and Reid could just stew in his pique for a while until he came to his senses, she half-convinced herself.

“Men,” she grumbled viciously as she locked the front door and shuffled with Follow towards the elevator.


	17. Chapter 17

He didn’t call again that day, or the day after. She texted Garcia and asked how the reading went instead, trying not to listen to the voice in her head chanting ‘COWARD’ loudly.

_Garcia: It was great. Lots of FBI showed up. Even Rossi swanned in. They did the Q &A together. They share a lot of groupies now. He seemed to be having fun. He looked great too – I forgot I haven’t seen him in a few years…_

_Garcia: Haven’t you talked to him?_

_Prentiss: No. We had an argument. We’re giving each other the silent treatment now. I know – it’s childish. You don’t need to say it._

_Garcia: What is UP with you two?_

_Prentiss: I dunno. We seem pathologically incapable of getting our shit together._

_Garcia: Well, telling him you love him might be a great start._

_Prentiss: He told you about that???_

_Garcia: Told me about what?_

_Garcia: I just meant you end a fight with someone by saying sorry & you love them & then you sort out the problem. THAT’S how you start the conversation._

_Garcia: I mean, it’s obvious you love him. You’ve loved him forever. You guys were best buds for years & everyone knew it. That’s love. It’s why I was worried when I heard about the weirdness going on between him & JJ. I knew it would screw with that friendship._

_Garcia: HOLY CRAP, WOMAN! HAVE YOU NEVER TOLD HIM YOU LOVE HIM? EVEN AS A FRIEND? WHAT THE HELL?????_

_Prentiss: Jesus, P, calm down, would ya?_

_Garcia: Are you SERIOUSLY telling me you have no love for that man?_

_Prentiss: Of course, I love him. I’m not a robot. He’s lovable._

_Garcia: But….?_

_Garcia: Oh. You’re worried about the naked-pretzel-love, huh? Since you 2 are finally negotiating that._

_Prentiss: You’re subtle like a blowtorch, Garcia._

_Garcia: But honestly… you don’t want to GET with that? B/c I’ve always thought he was a bit of a scrumptious morsel, myself…_

_Garcia: … & what if he’s a secret beast in bed? You can never count out a nerd – I know that from experience. We’re KINKY._

_Prentiss: Please stop._

_Garcia: & I bet he’d do anything for you. Like, sex swing dressed as a ferret-kinda anything…_

_Prentiss: STOP. This isn’t helping._

_Garcia: okay. sorry._

_Garcia: I thought you two were into each other._

_Prentiss: We are. I am. I’m attracted to him & I’ve loved reconnecting. I’ve missed our closeness so much, P. But I can’t see us together intimately. In my mind, ya know? I keep trying to picture it & I can’t. And I used to, back when we worked together._

_Garcia: ORLY?_

_Prentiss: Down, girl._

_Prentiss: And now he knows that & he’s upset. He’s busy feeling inferior & defensive – he says I don’t want this & won’t face up to the consequences of that._

_Prentiss: I don’t know what’s wrong with me._

_Garcia: Sounds like you’re scared._

_Prentiss: Of course, I am._

_Garcia: No, I mean, it was safe to fantasize about him when you knew you couldn’t have him. Now you can have him, you’re scaring yourself out of wanting him. And he’s right about consequences. You can’t get around that, E. You have to take a risk._

_Prentiss: I know. But I’m afraid – if it doesn’t work – I’ll lose him._

_Garcia: Honey, you’ll lose him if you DON’T take a risk. Wasn’t 6 yrs without him enough to convince you?_

Garcia was right: six years was more than enough time. If she couldn’t take a leap of faith with someone like Reid, she’d never find the courage to do it with anyone else. This was a do-or-die moment for her, and rightly or wrongly, it wasn’t about Reid at all. It was all about whether she was brave enough to try for happiness when she understood neither how to negotiate it nor how to make it last. She decided she’d give him another day to cool down, and then she’d reach out if he didn’t.

But life intervened again.

Her office phone rang the next day, and she picked it up without checking the number, half-distracted by a cyber-threat overview report that she had to present to the Pendleton board later.

“Emily Prentiss.”

“Em, are you watching the news,” Garcia said breathlessly. 

Emily’s stomach instantly tightened at the familiar tone and the sense of dread that automatically followed. She swivelled in her chair and fumbled for the remote to the flatscreen on the far wall, then she clicked until she got CNN.

“No. What’s happened?” Her voice was all business until the ticker across the bottom of the screen told her what Garcia was calling about.

“Isn’t he in Georgia right now?” Garcia whispered.

“Atlanta was yesterday. He should be on his way to Savannah right now…” Emily’s voice gave out as the anchor cycled back to their main story, _the biggest storm to hit southern Georgia in nearly a hundred years…_

“He’s heading right into it,” Garcia said.

“I’m calling him.” Emily’s hand shook as she picked up her cell phone and dialed the number. “Shit. It’s going straight to voicemail,” she told Garcia tightly when she switched back to her desk phone.

“Do you know where he’s staying?”

“No.”

“Hold on…” Garcia’s keyboard could be heard in the background, and Emily closed her eyes, breathing nervously as she silently thanked her friend for doing an illegal search without being asked. “He’s got a reso at The Bohemian… aaaaannnnnd… he checked in an hour ago. Room 504. Fuck… it’s right by the river, Em.”

She was already up and moving without thinking about it, getting tangled in the phone cord that made her swear roughly. She turned the tv off as the news anchor went into details about central services shutting down along the coast in anticipation of the category 4 hurricane making landfall in the next twelve hours.

“I’ve gotta go, Garcia. Thanks for the assist.”

“Wait! What are you gonna do?”

“I’m cancelling a ton of shit, taking Follow to the dogsitter, and then I’m going down there.”

Follow looked up from under Emily’s desk with worry.

“To Savannah??? Are you kidding me? That’s insane! You can’t get down there and back with him before it makes landfall!”

“Then I guess I’m hunkering down until it passes.”

“Emily-”

“I’ve gotta go, Garcia! There’s no time,” she pleaded. “Don’t argue with me. Just… will you keep trying to call him? Please? Maybe he’s just forgotten where he put his phone.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll keep trying,” Garcia said reluctantly. “Just… be safe, honey. This might be the worst plan you’ve ever hatched, by the way…”

Emily laughed bitterly. “Oh, it’s not even close. I’ll call when I can, P. Thanks.”

She whistled to Follow but he was at her heels already, shadowing her every move. She took a second to curl her fingers through his scruff and smiled.

“Gotta do this on my own, bud. But I promise I’ll come back. And I’ll make sure your boyfriend’s safe too.”


	18. Chapter 18

“Are you really gonna pull some security protocol shit on me right now? _Look_ at me.” Emily flung her arms wide in front of the recalcitrant concierge, splattering his counter with rainwater. “You know that there’s a hurricane happening, right? _I just walked in from a hurricane._ ”

“I am aware of the situation, madam, and I am pleased you are safe.”

“Oh, are you? That’s a relief…” she sassed back and received a withering glance in return.

“However, we take our patrons’ privacy very seriously here at The Bohemian.” The concierge pursed his lips and laid both hands along the counter as if he himself was the only thing protecting Reid and the rest of humanity from the dripping, irate woman before him.

“I’m not asking you to give me a key to his room. All I’m asking is that you call up and tell him I’m here. Emily Prentiss. We’re friends.”

“I’m sure you are,” the concierge said without feeling.

“Listen, I’d call him myself but cell service is down. Your system is a landline – it still works.” She stared at him as he remained unmoved. “I came all the way down here from New York to make sure he’s okay. Can you just… pick up the handset next to you and make a single call? Can you do that one thing out of decency?”

The concierge glanced at the phone and looked conflicted. “I cannot confirm or deny a patron’s presence in this hotel. Calling anyone would be a confirmation.”

“Oh, for the love of…” Emily swung her arms wide again and let them slap wetly against her sides in exasperation. Then she had a thought. “What if I stood over there with my back to you? I’d have no idea what you were up to.”

The concierge nodded once almost imperceptibly. “It would be considerate of you not to dampen the rug any further.”

“Fine, fine.” Emily held up her hands in surrender. “I’ll be over here dripping on the tiles, and you can call whomever you like in privacy.”

She grumbled under her breath as she squished away to the far end of the lobby and hoped the jerk would do her a solid. She shivered in the over-air conditioned space, watching trees bend dramatically in the wind in the street beyond the front doors.

“It’s gonna be a bad one…” someone close to her said. Emily turned and saw a weathered man in a porter’s uniform. “Good thing you got in when ya did, miss. We’ll be boarding her up soon.”

“Boarding her up?” Emily asked. The porter smiled, making a maze of creases pop up all over him.

“The doors. Glass ain’t much of a door in a hurricane, miss.”

“Is this hotel safe? I mean, there are windows everywhere.”

The porter nodded. “All the room windows got hurricane shutters, and they all been locked down already. We’ll lock up the lobby when we have to. Don’t you worry, miss. Ol’ Savannah’s had her share of ruckus. We just burrow down and wait it out, like always. Nothin’ else to do.”

Emily didn’t find that comforting, but the old porter smiled at her so sweetly she returned it and thanked him for the reassurance. At least he was nicer than the asshole concierge…

“Emily!”

She turned and saw Reid storming towards her from the lobby elevators. He looked pale and furious. _Great._ He reached for her arm and then pulled his hand away quickly when her shirt dribbled over his fingers. He shook the dampness away absently as he glared at her.

“What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t get in touch with you, so…”

“So, you wandered into a hurricane?! How did you even get here? The airport has been closed since last night.”

“I flew to Atlanta, and then rented a car,” she shrugged. Her shoes made an uncomfortable squishing noise.

“You _drove_ here?” he leaned forward incredulously. 

“Yeah,” Emily nodded, not understanding his disbelief. “It was the only option. It’s parked in a garage about two blocks away.” She gestured vaguely to the front doors. “If the building doesn’t make it, I guess I’ve just bought myself a shitty beige subcompact.”

“What a reckless, stupid, inane thing to do-” Reid’s face was getting red with anger, and suddenly she felt angry right back.

“Hey, I was worried about you, okay? And you weren’t returning my calls. So, I did what I had to, alright?” She glared at him and braced her hands on her hips. By now, she was standing in a puddle of her own making.

“It’s a hurricane-rated hotel,” Reid flung a hand wide. “I’m _fine._ ”

“Well, FINE. Now I know that!” Her voice rang off the hard surfaces of the lobby, and since no one was around, the staff were all looking at them. “But I how was I supposed to find out?”

“By waiting. By using some sense. At no point should ‘racing into a category 4 hurricane’ have been your go-to option…”

“So, I shoulda just _assumed_ you were fine, without any evidence, because you can take care of yourself, but coming after you into the same storm is an untenable risk because I CAN’T take care of myself? Is that what I’m hearing right now?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Emily!” Reid yelled, cheeks scarlet. “This isn’t a sexist objection-”

“So, how is it okay you’re here but not okay that I am?”

“Because I was already in it, and you were _completely safe_ up in New York, that’s why!”

“That’s why I came! Because you weren’t safe!”

Their tirade was interrupted by a polite-yet-firm cough and the sudden appearance of the concierge at their side. Emily twitched, and Reid outright yelped in shock.

“Forgive the intrusion,” he said with an arched eyebrow of disdain. “But perhaps this is a discussion you might move to your room, sir? You are becoming quite boisterous.”

“So, you’ve decided he knows me, huh?” Emily snarked, and the concierge flicked another withering glance in her direction.

“I’m concerned you may disturb the other guests.”

Both she and Reid glanced around the lobby. They were the only people there. Emily was about to lay into the concierge again when Reid grabbed her arm and tugged.

“C’mon,” he grumbled. “He’s right.”

“He’s NOT right,” she hissed loudly, but followed Reid when he pulled her towards the elevators.

“Alright, maybe I don’t want to yell at you where the entire hotel staff can see,” he huffed in warning, and then shuffled into the elevator without looking at her. The doors closed, and they whizzed upwards, but Reid just scowled at his shoes and slouched in the corner.

“Is this still too public?” Emily crossed her arms and leaned into her own corner. “Do you need full privacy to tell me how disappointed you are in me?”

“Don’t do that,” he warned.

“Do what?”

“Pretend like you can’t see my point of view. You know I’m not disappointed in you.”

“So, it’s fine when you refuse to see where I’m coming from, but it’s unforgiveable when I do it?”

Reid’s face creased with incredulity. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about our last conversation. I’m talking about you storming across the lobby just now, furious that I actually gave a damn.”

He huffed dangerously at her. “Those are two separate situations. Don’t conflate the issue here.”

She braced her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Why are you so angry?”

“Because you could’ve been hurt out there, or worse,” he snapped and jabbed a finger at the elevator doors. “A washed-out road, a swollen river, hit by debris from the damned winds… do you have any idea how many ways there are to die in a storm like this one?”

“Yes, I do,” she snapped back. “That’s all I’ve been thinking about the whole way here, and I’ll be damned if we finally figure out we love each other and then you go off and die a stupid death before we can do anything about it!”

Reid’s fury melted into shock in an instant, his mouth falling open uselessly and his eyes wide. The elevator softly dinged their arrival at that moment, and the doors opened while they stared each other down. Neither of them moved from their corners until the doors began to close again, when Reid leapt into them and forced them apart.

“Uh, c’mon…” he mumbled over his shoulder. 

Leading her down the hall, he buzzed them into a room. Once shut in, she realized how loud the wind was. Glancing to the windows, she found them black from the hurricane shutters, and somehow that made the wind worse, only hearing it and unable to see. It sounded like a moaning animal. As she stood transfixed by the noise and her blindness, something struck the side of the building, making a loud crash, and she jumped.

“Jesus, it’s loud.”

“Yes,” Reid murmured, padding up beside her. “I was planning on sleeping out here tonight. The bedroom has two walls of windows – it’s too upsetting. Feels like you’ll be swept away at any moment.”

She looked at the couch and saw pillows and a folded blanket. Then she looked at him, and he was watching her carefully.

“You love me,” he said after a tense moment.

“Yes.”

“You’ve never said it before.”

“I know,” she sighed and walked into the room. She wanted to sit, but she was soaked.

“After our last conversation, I kinda thought you never would.”

“Well, I’m surprising, aren’t I?” she huffed, feeling exhaustion creep up from the drive, the worry, and the arguing.

“What… what changed your mind?”

She looked at him and sagged. “Do you have a towel? I just want to sit down. I’m so tired…”

“Oh!” His brows popped up and he started bouncing around anxiously. “Yes. Sorry. I should’ve… wow, you’re soaked. Do you have a bag or something?”

“It’s in the car,” she sighed. “It doesn’t matter. Everything’s wet.”

“Hmmm, well… let’s see what I have…” 

He dove into a bag beside the sofa that she recognized as his old go bag. She smiled as he rooted through it and then eventually came up with some wonky clothing options that he held out to her.

“Here. These might work. Get dry and then we’ll talk. The bathroom’s on the left.”

She took the clothes and locked herself into the bathroom with relief. Sound was muffled in its four, sturdy walls and she tried to calm down in the shelter it provided. She glanced around and saw a tub big enough to hold a party in, and thought, under different conditions, this would’ve been a great place to start an affair. Then she turned and saw her grey hair plastered to her head, and her make-up streaming down her face, her ruined clothes and her pale shivering from the air conditioning.

“Marvelous,” she growled, and then stripped as she goosepimpled everywhere. 

Reid’s clothing options were a pair of boxer briefs and one of his button-downs. The shirt was too wide in the shoulders and too narrow through the chest, and it smelled like him, which was unnerving.

“You still got the rack, honey,” she sighed as she took in the overall effect. 

Then she shrugged and reached for a towel. There was nothing she could do about this now. She tried her best to fix her appearance – vanity still at play in her despite her experience and her best friend in the next room. Walking back into the living room scrubbing her hair with a towel, Reid stood up from the sofa, his eyes flicking over her nervously as he fiddled with his hands.

“Want some tea? To warm up?” he asked without making much eye contact. Maybe showing up looking like an aging, wet rag was too much. But she was truly too tired to care.

“Sure. That would be really nice, thanks.”

He shrugged and went to the sideboard, plugging in the tiny kettle and fussing with his back to her.

“You won’t be able to get out tonight. Of Savannah, I mean.”

“Obviously.” She sat with a soft groan and curled into the sofa, shivering.

“You can stay here.” He said it strangely, as if it were a question.

“Thank you,” she said quietly as the wind roared at the shutters. And she was thankful, now that the full effect of the storm was making a dent on her. He fussed a little more, and then returned with a steaming cup that she clutched close for the warmth more than anything else. She hummed her gratitude to him softly.

“I really wish you hadn’t come,” he said. Her eyes flashed to him as he curled on the opposite corner of the couch. Then he twitched and cleared his throat. “What I mean is, I wish you were safe instead.”

She sighed. “It used to be our jobs to have each other’s backs. I guess you can take the woman from the FBI, but you can’t take the FBI from the woman.” She blew on her tea. “You don’t need it as much as when we chased killers, but I still have your back, Spencer. You walked into a hurricane, so I walked in after you.”

He looked at her oddly, as if she’d legitimately surprised him. “I… I didn’t walk.”

She chuckled and sipped her tea. The wind whipped past the shutters and made a terrible screeching sound for ten seconds. Emily’s whole body contracted; it was almost the exact sound of a child screaming. Reid shuffled closer and she twitched, not hearing him over the screeching, but his eyes were wide with anxiety, and she knew it bothered him too. He held his arm out and she slowly slotted herself under it.

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” he said when the wind changed direction.

“It sounds so… human…”

“Yeah. I’ve never been through one of these before.” His grip around her shoulder tightened. “So, I guess I won’t pretend that I’m not a little bit relieved you’re here,” he murmured. She glanced at him. “Overwhelmingly, I wish you were safe in Manhattan. But… I’m also glad I’m not alone.”

“Wow,” she deadpanned. “That almost makes the flight, the four-hour drive, and the public meltdown worth it.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “You’re such a pain in the ass,” he sighed.

“Like that’s news to you,” she mumbled, leaning into his warmth.

“It’s not,” he said close to her ear. “But what is news is that you crossed six states and dove into a hurricane because you love me.”

She looked at him, his face shadowed and concerned, close enough for her to really see the years outlined on it. She thought about saying something glib – no doubt he was expecting as much. But she nodded once instead.

“I do,” she whispered. He blinked rapidly.

“I… I thought you were working on it.”

“C’mon, Spence. Can we both agree that we’ve probably loved each other since the Bureau? Can we just stipulate that?”

“But there’s a difference between the affection we had then, and what I’m talking about now,” he said quietly and seriously.

“I know. And I’m worried about losing the former because I might be no good at the latter. But I _feel_ the latter too, Spence.”

“You… you do?”

“Yes.” She shuffled against him until she could look him in the eye. Her cheeks heated as she thought about telling him, then she rolled her eyes and huffed quietly. “Listen, I… I thought about you. Back when we worked together. I thought about being with you.”

“…being with me…”

“In bed, Spencer,” she said with an edge of frustration at his disbelief. “Fantasies, you know?”

“Oh.” It came out shaky.

“So, it really ticks me off when you pull that bullshit about not being my type. I don’t think you have any clue about that side of me.”

“No… no, I probably don’t.” His eyes were unfocused, as if trying to picture how she thought about him.

“And I’m sure I don’t know about that side of you either.”

His eyes flashed back into focus.

“I mean, you hid Maeve from everyone. You never talked about dating. Were there others?”

“Yes,” he mumbled. “But they never lasted. It was either physical or emotional. Never both. And after Callie and Petra, I started to wonder if I could even do it.”

“Do what?”

“Trust one person with all of it.” He watched her closely as the wind complained around them. When he spoke again, he could barely be heard over it. “You’re not the only one who worries about their insufficiencies, you know. There’s a reason why I’ve been single my whole life.”

Colour rose in his cheeks while she watched, and eventually, he had to look away. “I’ve always wanted to be the kind of person who made connections easily. But that’s not me.” He sighed. “For the longest time, my only wish was to have my own family. When I realized that would never happen… I just hoped I wouldn’t be alone for my entire life. I took what was offered and did the best I could with it.”

Emily’s chest squeezed tight at his resignation and embarrassment. She quickly lay a tea-warmed palm over his chest and he glanced back at her, surprised.

“Spence…” she choked softly, thinking about him quietly waiting for something he’d convinced himself he didn’t deserve. “I never knew you wanted a family so much.”

He nodded slowly, mouth tight. “Probably best that I didn’t. With the schizophrenia and dementia an’ all. And I ended up doing a lot with Henry and Michael, so those instincts didn’t go completely to waste.”

“But…” She shook her head and swallowed roughly. “Nothing grinds away at you like never getting what you hoped for.”

He shifted to look at her better and she slid a little closer. “What did you hope for when you were younger?”

She shrugged as the wind howled like something begging to be let in. 

“It depended on my age, I guess. For a long time, I just wanted to get ahead. To stand out and be recognized for being good at what I did. Then when I found out Matthew died, and the Doyle mess rose up around Declan, I thought about children.”

“You wanted kids?”

“I don’t know – I really don’t. There was never someone to consider parenting with anyway, and eventually the drama of the job made the question moot. Time made that decision for me. Maybe I regret that a little – that I pissed away the opportunity without making a choice about it.”

He nodded and squeezed her shoulder, remaining quiet with that statement for a while with the storm battering them from all sides. Then he said, “What do you hope for now?”

“Well, getting out of here alive is top of the list at the moment.” She smirked but he gave her a serious glare, unamused by her deflection, and she sighed deeply. “Honestly, I just want someone who gets me. Someone to share things with. The whole idea sounds a bit weak to me – and I can hear my younger self mocking me for needing anyone at all – but age has shown me that very little else matters. Not a career, or power, or even money. Though I have all of those things, so maybe I don’t really understand what life would be like without them.”

She looked at him, staring down that expression she’d told more than her fair share of secrets to over the years, and the hand on his chest drifted up to rest against his neck. _Be like him. Be brave._

“And when I say ‘someone’, I’m essentially saying ‘you’.”

Reid shifted as if he were trying to cover up a twitch. He took a deep breath in and blinked at her.

“I’ve been a jackass for six years,” she began softly, her fingers tracing a line along his throat. “And when you showed up in my life again, I panicked at the thought of getting what I wanted. Like you, I guess I figured I didn’t deserve it.”

“I… I didn’t-”

She waved away his objection gently, and set her tea down, curling back to him earnestly. “I’m terrible at this, Spencer. Being close, trusting, letting myself feel vulnerable… The only person who’s ever brought it out in me is you. I don’t feel this way for anyone else – I never have. You’re the only one I felt comfortable doing it with.”

“Y-you’re the only person I’ve felt comfortable doing it with too,” he whispered, swallowing awkwardly.

“This scares me,” she said as something hit the side of the building and made the windows rattle with the impact. She huddled closer to him and felt his pulse rabbiting at his throat. “I don’t know what to do, and I’m handling it like a moron, but… I want you. Not someone like you, but _you._ That’s what I’m hoping for now. So, when I finally realized how I’d screwed this up _again_ , I decided a melodramatic midnight run into a hurricane was called for.”

Reid continued blinking rapidly. “It was… very melodramatic.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, tired of herself. “Sometimes I can’t believe me either.”

He kept watching her and seemed stuck somehow, unable to comprehend what she said or move past it. It suddenly seemed ludicrous that they were fighting about what they were to each other when they both suffered from the same insecurities: inexperience, fear of failing, committed loneliness. The only difference was how they were coping with them. She watched him watching her, with the world swirling in a violent scream around them, and things got quiet for her in a heartbeat. A moment of clarity descended with such authority she felt she should’ve been flattened into the sofa cushions by it.

“I’d walk into a thousand storms for you.” It slipped out of her before she could think about it. “That’s not melodrama. It’s just the way things are.”

Reid’s eyebrows rose until they almost disappeared under his droopy tangles. His grip around her shoulders tightened and his eyes flicked unconsciously to her mouth and then away as he licked his lips. There was a weird war happening in his expression as hope wrestled with an old, protective sense of disbelief.

“I… I know,” he said almost too softly to be heard over the wind. It looked as if the statement surprised him. “I guess I’ve known from the Cyrus case that you’d do whatever you had to.”

“For you,” she added, meaningfully. Because the way she’d step in front of a bullet for any team member was a hell of a lot different than the way she’d do it for him.

Something changed in him then. His body tensed next to hers and his stare became unmerciful. The fingers of his free hand twitched, and then he slowly raised them until they could play with the worn cuff of the shirt rolled at her elbow. He fixed his entire attention on curling the fabric between his fingertips, over and over. He was breathing shallowly.

“I’d do anything for you,” he whispered. “And it’s not friendly. But I-I’m sorry if I’ve pushed you… if I made you feel you had to prove your feelings. If you need time… Our last conversation-”

There was a tremendous crash outside and the windows rattled against the storm shutters. They both jumped, holding each other close, eyes riveted to the windows, waiting. The winds kicked up, screeching and unholy around the building, but nothing broke through. Just lashes of rain and wind, as they hid, blindly, in their shelter. They both breathed out audibly in unison, and then the hotel room went dark with a great crack.

“Jesus…” Emily whispered, and after a moment she felt Reid moving, squeezing her shoulder before leaving her on the couch.

“Hold on,” he called out, and then she heard the front door opening and he was mutely outlined for a moment before it shut again. “Yeah. The emergency lights are on in the hallway, but I imagine the grid’s gone down. The staff said this might happen.”

There was some fumbling around, and a sudden ‘ouch!’, then the room contracted to a flicker of light, and then another. Reid walked through the darkness with two lanterns in his grip, placing them on the table in front of the couch before taking his place next to Emily again. It wasn’t a lot of light, just enough to highlight details for a few feet around them. Anything beyond that fell away into darkness as if it never existed. It amped up the claustrophobic blindness considerably, and Emily felt her pulse booming in her throat as she tried to swallow down the useless fear.

“They handed out lanterns to all the guests this morning,” he said tightly. She remembered his fear of the dark and pulled him closer.

“You okay?” she murmured.

“Sure,” he said without looking at her, his eyes riveted to the dark where he knew the windows were.

She leaned her head against his shoulder and curled her arms around him. He took a minute, but he softened into her hold, breath fluttering her half-dried hair when he rested his chin on her head.

“It’s fine,” he said again.

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure we’ve both been through worse…”

The wind changed direction again and whistled against the shutters producing something that sounded eerily like screaming. They both tensed as one, and Emily breathed out hard against his neck. His grip around her tightened, and she worked to focus on something else: his warmth, his fingers along her back, her toes digging into the crease between the couch cushions… But the wind kept screaming, and her worn panic lashed out on instinct.

“Fuck… it sounds like… _fuck._ ”

He squeezed her until it almost hurt.

“Remember… remember that case just outside of Dallas?” she gulped when she could fight off the instinct to freeze or fight. 

“Those kids in the cellar,” he said, and nodded against her. “I was thinking that too.”

“It sounds like them, doesn’t it?”

He nodded again, then slipped his face down so that he could bury himself in her hair.

“I still dream about that,” she said. “The screams they made. It doesn’t matter that we got them out, that the case was a win for us. My mind latches onto that sound and…”

“It’s a trigger,” he breathed against her cheek. “It’s like electricity, or a nerve impulse. We just _react._ ”

“Yeah. And all I want to do is pull my gun and check for blindspots,” she shivered.

“Do you still have a gun?” he asked.

“Yes. Back in a gun safe in New York. I can’t even remember the last time I cleaned it.”

“Oh man,” he chuckled softly. “I can hear the Hotch lecture right now…”

She laughed with him, and then the screeching became howling and she contracted against him until her face was pressed to the base of his throat. She breathed in to settle herself and his scent was everywhere, banishing the rain from her hair and the sterile staleness of the hotel room. There was just him and the dark and the storm beyond it. 

There were moments during her time in London, or New York, when the weather roused her, and her mind traveled to him, wherever he was. If Mark or someone else was asleep at her side, she moved to another room and sat, imagining him there reading case notes or writing, oblivious to her presence thousands of miles away and yet _right there._ It was something she indulged when she didn’t feel strong. It felt like a betrayal because it wasn’t true and couldn’t happen. But now it _was_ true and he was right next to her. 

She moved her hand until it brushed his neck above his shirt, skimming her fingers until she felt the pattern of his pulse. He shivered and tensed at the movement, his breath unsteady against her. She trailed her fingers down slowly, eventually reaching the V of his shirt and hooking a finger in it to make the gap wider. Her lips were inches from his throat, but she didn’t lean in, just allowing her breath to warm the spot between his collar bones as his chest expanded. He pressed his cheek hard against hers and it seemed as if his lips were mouthing something but finding no breath to make it real. Then she drifted her hand back up to his neck and laid it across the pulse line that now thundered under her touch. Emily turned her face towards him, drawing back a little to see his eyes. They were almost black in the gloom, huge and vivid, and his mouth hung open as if he couldn’t get enough air. The wind bellowed but it was an afterthought as she watched his face. She leaned in, breathing out as he suddenly breathed in, brushing their lips as they both went still.

“Make me forget,” she mouthed to his shocked lips. “Everything but you.”

Then she sealed his breathlessness gently with hers, thinking about all those nights she’d wanted to turn his imaginary head from his case files and capture his attention this way instead. She was soft against him, tender as the storm was brutal, and under her fingertips, his pulse went into overdrive. She slipped from him, watching carefully in the lantern light, and then he reached for her, pulling her back soundly. He went deep, cupping her to him and roaming as if he’d only be given this one allowance, and he was making it count. When they slipped free, he breathed her name like it was another word for thanks, and she slid her hands up into his hair making him whimper against her lips when she drew him back in. 

There were a handful of heated minutes in the dark, filled with escalating urgency and stuttered breath when they came apart only to pull back together again. He arched up on his knees to change their angle, fingers slipping into her hair as his kisses got hungrier. He made a soft moan when he cradled her close, so different from the frightening sound of the storm winds that it snapped her out of her haze momentarily. She pulled back to look at him, his pupils blown wide, gasping for breath, and his skin on fire under her hands. He waited on her, mesmerized by whatever he saw in her face at that moment, and then she drifted a hand down to his chest and tugged at the top button of his shirt. He blinked quickly, like a stutter, and then glanced down at her hand. She tugged again silently and waited for his eyes to meet hers. When they did, he seemed shocked, but he nodded once unmistakeably. Then her fingers hooked into the top button and released it with an imperceptible pop. 

She slowly proceeded to the next one, and the one after that. He watched her fingers work, watched his shirt gape wider and wider, but didn’t move a muscle. She adjusted her free hand down to snake under the fabric as she worked the buttons. Her fingers skimmed over his chest, exploring lightly and blindly. And he shook. She glanced up and his expression was unrestrained amazement. It set her back for an instant, and she wanted to ask him _why_ , but then his shaking turned into a low-level trembling, and he licked his lips, looking at her with such barely-contained joy that she forgot about anything but that.

Releasing the last button, she ducked in to brush her lips over the center of his chest. He gasped in surprise, and then the trembling was back, his chest hiccupping under her mouth as he tried to catch his breath. His hands moved to her hair, her back, holding her lightly, letting her move as she wanted. She mouthed his skin, enjoying the taste and warmth for its own pleasure, and then her hands slipped under the button-down, flicking it over his shoulders to fall away from him. She glanced up and found him still watching her, then she arched up on her knees and brushed her mouth to his throat and along his neck before finally latching on and sucking until he moaned and curled against her. His arms came around her then, holding her tight to his chest, and he breathed roughly above her head.

“Em…”

“I used to imagine us together,” she licked into his throat. “Maybe just one night, or as a couple hidden from everyone else.”

His arms tightened around her unbelievably, and she heard him choke a little. 

“Occasionally, it was so vivid that I couldn’t look you in the eye the next day, or I’d have to put off calling you from London. I felt dirty and mundane… treating you that way. Because you were my best friend. I locked it away and hoped you’d never notice.” 

He pulled back and looked her in the eye, disbelieving and breathless. Then his hand raced up and cupped her, bringing her to his lips too forcefully. He pushed roughly until she opened, and then he slid in with a moan that sounded as if it hurt. He was burning and hungry, surprising her and igniting that long-ago shame into something else, something with a will of its own. He slipped away with a gasp against her, eyes closed and fingers digging into her jaw, trying to wrestle some control back.

“You lived inside my head,” he whispered urgently. “For years. You were a different woman there. You drove me crazy and I broke you open. We were… beautiful, interwoven… Christ, Em, it was so vital to me, no wonder no one else could break through it.”

He bit her mouth and then she bit back, struggling against his grip, shuffling to her knees as well as the _something_ deep down in her began to wake and claw its way upwards.

“I built my loneliness around you,” he breathed sharply. “I can’t blame anyone for that but me. But I’ve loved you, craved you, needed you for so long – you have no reason to feel ashamed about your fantasies. Mine were far more depraved because I chose to _live_ in them rather than in the real world.”

He caught her stare again, and there was pain in the cramped lines around his eyes, and a wide plea for understanding. She watched him for a long moment, paralyzed by the idea of possessing him from the inside out, silently for years. And her growling, ravenous will crawled a little closer to the surface…

“Tell me about us,” she licked her lips, and he blinked at her, stunned. “The ‘us’ inside your mind. What are we like? What have we done?”

He swallowed awkwardly and then he broke their gaze. If the light were better, she’d probably have seen him blush.

“We’ve… we’ve done a lot,” he gulped, fingers moving absently along her jaw. “In my less prurient imaginings, we had a family. We were unrealistically happy. We’re always… revolving around each other. Like we’re caught up in an electromagnetic field of our own making. It’s… it’s not _real._ ”

“That’s why it’s called ‘a fantasy’,” she rebutted, sliding her fingers into his hair to catch his attention, and it worked. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out that particular trigger in him. There was banked heat in his glare when he looked at her, his mouth a firm line. Perhaps he was wondering if she was mocking him.

“Was it satisfying?” she whispered.

“You have no idea.”

“And your ‘prurient’ fantasies? What did we do?”

His mouth tightened again.

“What did I do for you?” she nudged, her lips brushing his.

“It was never like that.”

“Like what?”

His eyes ducked down to the hollow of her throat, as if that were safer than her face. “I always did… whatever you wanted. That’s what got me off, I guess. Being the guy you could ask anything of, and then pulling it off even when I didn’t know how.”

A flash of heat rippled over her, but then she wondered how far his imagination had taken him.

“Anything?” she asked. 

He looked up and nodded shyly. “Anything.”

Her eyebrows popped without thinking about it, and he looked away.

“We tried a lot,” he continued weakly. “Not all of it worked, but… it meant everything that you trusted me enough to ask. That turned me inside out more than anything we attempted.”

He shook suddenly under her hands and his voice cut out on him. The heat from before flared when she saw his kink was competency, trust, not just getting his rocks off in a weird way. The caged thing within her was now ramming itself against the bars, desperate to get free and maul him. One hand abandoned his hair and grasped his chin firmly, turning him back to face her.

“Christ, Spence… and you thought I wouldn’t be into you…”

She kissed him hard, pressing herself in too roughly and forcing a whine from deep in his chest. She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, and he whimpered again, but it was cut off when he brushed her tongue with his, following her lead. She flared brightly for an instant in his grip, popping away from his mouth with an urgent gasp for air, then her caged thing was free and roaming, fingers tripping over his sharp contours and slim muscles until they found his belt and tugged.

His hands slipped under her borrowed shirt like magic, pads of his fingers finding her and cupping her so quickly that it felt as if every part of her hardened against him in a single moment. He rolled her between his fingers, forehead pressed hard to hers as they both stared at the fabric bunching over his efforts. Her nipple tattooed every beat of her to him, every strained breath as she arched to get closer, to feel _more_ of him around her. A weird sound came out of him, like he intended it to be a word, but it lost form and tumbled ungraciously down his chest between them instead. And he was vibrating everywhere now.

“Take it off me,” she whispered. His gaze moved to hers sluggishly, pupils blown out as he stared and tried to breathe and understand at the same time. “Take your shirt off me,” she repeated, and his hand twitched at her breast. “I want to feel you against me.”

His hands flew to the buttons and fumbled them as fast as he could manage, his chest heaving monstrously as he tried to choke back his urgency. She dropped her lips to his throat, to the scar left there by a bullet she hadn’t around to stop, and she latched on firmly but gently, letting her arms drop to her sides, waiting for him. The shirt parted, and he flicked it away while leaning into the mark she was leaving on him, and he moaned softly for an instant. Then his arms were around her, pulling her until they were chest to chest, his hands crawling up her spine and cinching her so close she almost couldn’t breathe. 

She gasped away from his neck, making a shocked groan at their combined heat at the exact moment he did the same thing. His nipples pinged against her breasts, his ribs dug into her as they rose and fell in staggered gulps, his belly brushing hers as they strained to get closer. Suddenly, her heat was something far more dangerous and immediate, as catastrophic as the storm around them; she was possessed by a single desire to pull him into her, to have him until he broke, to goad him into filling her until he destroyed her. It was terrible and desperate, like she feared he’d come to his senses at any moment and let her go. She dug her nails into his back to hold him close and he yelped, then her other hand fumbled with the boxers twisted around her hips. As she tried to pull them down, they smeared dampness along her thighs.

“Fuck,” she huffed, as she fought with the material. 

She wasn’t going to last, and she was a little embarrassed by that. He struggled to hold her as she twisted, and he made a questioning sound against her neck. She slipped and fell heavily into him, her thighs pressing to his and he was already monstrously hard in his pants. She swore again and then bit his jaw because she didn’t know how to control the impulse to just mindlessly fuck him.

“Em?” he husked, one hand scooting down her back to the hem of the boxers half over her ass.

“Help me.” 

It came out sounding small and desperate, but he went into action without further conversation. He drew the boxers down and away as she wrestled to free her legs without losing too much of him against her. Then there was just the intense heat of where they met, and the cold of the room where they didn’t. 

With the boxers disposed, his hands rushed back to her, and she grabbed one without warning, dragging it between her thighs to rut against it shamefully. He gasped her name into her hair but didn’t pull away. She breathed roughly into his shoulder, grinding and blushing as if she’d never be able to stop. His fingers flicked along her experimentally and she was a mess, his hand and her thighs too slick to give her much friction. It was all barrelling down on them too fast.

“Motherfucking Christ!” she growled, and he tried to pull his hand away. She pressed into him until there was nowhere else to go. “Haven’t been laid in three years,” she mumbled, face on fire. “I’m not gonna last…”

“S-s’okay… w-we don’t…” he stuttered, wet fingers roaming her as he tried to tell her they could stop.

“Oh _yes, we do_ ,” she hissed, and took his mouth to stop his ridiculous equivocating. 

“W-what… do you w-want?” he whispered when they came up for air, his gaze huge and stunned.

“Jesus, I just need you to fuck me,” she breathed unevenly as her eyes clamped shut. She pressed her forehead against his and rode through the destructive, incendiary pull between her hips. 

“After all this time… I just… I need your cock, and I need to hear you come. Please, Spence… it’s just basic. Just your sounds, and the taste of your sweat… I need you inside me. To know… it’s because of me.” 

He made a painful sound she didn’t expect, and when she flicked her eyes open to check him, he dove into her mouth, funneling that sound into her with his tongue, one hand clasping her face so tightly it felt like it would leave a mark. Then his other hand left her center and fumbled desperately with his belt between them. But he kissed her and kissed her, hungry and endless, unwilling to break away. She shoved her hands blindly to his belt to help, and between them, they groaned and twisted and yanked until his pants were pinned around his thighs and he was flush against her. She straddled him, popping away from his mouth as she shifted higher, eager to finally get what her body was snarling for. But his hands flashed to her hips and stopped her from slipping down onto him. She breathed hard and looked confused. He just watched her like she was the only flicker of colour in a monochrome world, his chest heaving to catch his breath.

“It’s because of you,” he whispered, and then pulled her down to him. His grip pierced her, but he did it slowly, an agonizing descent that stretched and lit her until she settled deep against his hips, full and trembling along his chest.

“christ…” she wheezed, curling her back and thighs to get tighter, closer. His mouth was at her neck, breathing in ragged, wet gasps.

“… emily… you…” he whimpered, and it broke her.

She rolled into him and they both cried together softly. Then she was twisting in his arms, and he was thrusting up into her, as they cursed and cried and licked and adored. His voice got hoarse as he called out her name; a sort of shameless declaration of want from the most secretive part of him. She got impossibly wet when he told her how often he thought of her, with his cock in his hand, she flushed hot and embarrassed when he admitted sometimes he imagined her while he fucked another. But she came like a supernova when he slipped against her, sweating and straining until his neck corded, and whimpered, “better than fantasy…” Then he clasped her to his chest as she broke open, messy and loose as it rocked through her, and he pumped frantically until he tensed and pulled her deep. He made an animal sound she’d never forget: like the shock of a snapped trap and a groan of pleasure at the blood it produced at the same time. Something marrow-deep she’d never heard from anyone else.

And they went limp together, with the storm still screaming, louder than when they began. But Emily couldn’t hear anything other than Spencer’s heart thudding full and steady against her ear.


	19. Chapter 19

The screeching woke her suddenly, and in the span of a second, her pulse went from lazy to racing. She was naked, exposed, disoriented, and her body fired off impulses that made no sense. _Where’s your gun… find your gun…_ She shivered and in an instant his arms were there pulling her back against him, his warmth lining her from knees to shoulders.

“S’okay,” he breathed sluggishly against her neck, and her shivering turned to trembling in a flash of knowing heat. “Just the wind.”

“How long can this go on?” she whispered back, not knowing how long she slept, feeling outside of time itself in their cocoon of darkness.

“Dunno.” 

His voice was raspy, _fucked_ , and suddenly she felt him hard behind her. She wondered how awake he was as his hips bumped her once, twice. And she was _alive_ like a light being switched – no build up, no foreplay – wanting him again with her legs still tacky from before.

_Jesus._

“Could be a day or more,” he mumbled, trying to sound like the fact-driven guy of days gone by and not someone naked and glued to her back. “You arrived at the leading edge of it. We’ll still have to pass through the eye, and beyond the other side.”

She rubbed her legs together, trying to ease the ache that rose suddenly at his voice. One of his hands at her hip drifted up along her torso and tickled under her breast with just a whisper of his fingers. _He’s not worried about being forward anymore._ She shifted her legs again and the wetness along them chilled suddenly in the air around them. She shook a little, her body turning it into a stuttered groan when it leaked from her. He nestled his face into the soft juncture where her shoulder became her neck and teased her with the skim of his teeth and flick of his tongue. He moaned softly.

“Want you again,” he mouthed, and she rocked back against him without thinking.

“We’ve got some time to kill,” she whispered unevenly, and then smiled when he growled, shuffled lower, and pressed firmly to the crease of her thighs. “God, I love the sounds you make…”

He groaned, his hand biting into her hip hard enough to bruise – _Christ, I hope it bruises_ – and he pushed urgently as they struggled against each other. Then he was in her, cresting forward in long, sure sweeps of his body, deep enough to pierce her ache right up the center of her, zipping along her spine until it burrowed into her brain with a delicious burn.

“Fuck, Spence…” 

She didn’t know if it was a curse or a command, but he seemed to take it as both, and she twisted around him as he curled his back and worked her harder. His hand at her breast kneaded her, and his grip on her hip loosened to skip across her abdomen and draw her back against him with a flattened palm and long fingers. She squeezed her legs and he meeped a little, making her chuckle darkly.

“You like it this way… a little basic and feral… don’t you?”

He made a pained sound halfway to a growl, like something trapped by instinct and made desperate by it. Then his mouth opened along her neck and he scored her with his teeth, thrusts pressing them into her skin without him even trying.

“So… wet…” he gasped, then licked, then gasped away again. “So much… more… More than I imagined…”

“You love getting messy,” she continued, rolling her hips with him so that his efforts got more, further, deeper. She closed her eyes, gripped his hand working her breast and worked it harder, curling up into the mental picture of them throbbing together on the sofa. “The guy with the germ thing _loves_ some messy fucking… I should’ve guessed that…”

His teeth sank into her neck without warning and she yowled, mostly in surprise. She felt his pressure waver, but she stretched her neck towards him saying, _mark me_ with a flush of warm skin. He moaned and did it again, a little lower and a little lighter, like intersecting circles. She couldn’t wait to see them puffy and raised along her throat in daylight. She tightened her grip on his hand and her legs stiffened to give him greater friction, and he pulled away from her neck with a soft cry deep in his chest.

“Don’t love messy…”

“Yeah, you do,” she gasped hard as he slammed into her, pinging her backbone.

“I don’t.”

He throbbed into hard over and over, almost like the storm lashing the shutters. She’d almost forgotten the rain because of him, his elemental force more immediate and urgent than the deadly force they roiled inside. Faster and faster he rose in her like the tide, and she could feel him losing it, the instinct to merge and sate and consume, coming together and rendering him mindless against her. She laughed out loud, manic and husky, leaning her head back until the bites on her throat began to sting and he mouthed hoarsely in her tangled hair.

“Love this,” she gasped. “Fuckin’ perfect… stupid storm sex.”

“Don’t love messy,” he wheezed, thrusting hard and suddenly out of sync, making her whine. “But I love f-fucking you… Any way you want me, Em…”

He gasped hard enough to sound as if it hurt, and then his whole body curled and contracted around her. He pressed his face hard against her back. “ _Soclose_ … say my name… _please_ …”

She purred his name, let it ripple out of her with dark curls, dripping, thin tendrils of his identity and everything that came to mean to her. She said it over and over until the sound became meaningless, just a susurrus of desire. And he pitched hard into her, crying like she broke him, electrifying her as she bowed back into his determined curve. He throbbed into her again and again, his face pressed to her back, damp where his cheek met her skin, breathing unsteadily and murmuring with the same full feeling that a single word, or name, could capture.

 _This is so much more than I hoped,_ she thought as he came with a sudden jolt of his hips, working them until she was so dirty and full, she knew she’d never randomly think about Savannah again without blushing.

They drifted off almost immediately, still tangled and barely awake to begin with. But before she did, Emily wondered how they could’ve kept feeling like this hidden from each other for nearly twenty years.


	20. Chapter 20

The bathwater was tepid now, but they had nowhere better to go. And the bathroom was quieter, there was no question about that. That had been the allure from the start. Spencer traced watery lines over her skin like a meditation. She rested along his chest, watching him carefully. He was quiet again and she wondered if he was okay. Eventually, he glanced at her, and the lines around his eyes crinkled – not quite a smile, but a knowing warmth that was only for her.

“Penny,” she whispered, and his brows wiggled in confusion. “Penny for your thoughts,” she clarified.

“Do you have one?”

“In the rental car two blocks away. It’s probably in six feet of water by now.”

He chuckled, vibrating her through his chest with it, and she just watched the lines around his mouth that she loved until they faded. He eventually looked back at her seriously, and she braced for whatever was coming.

“Do you ever feel like… every plan you ever made was just a lot of wasted energy?”

She felt her face crease in confusion. He shook his wet tangles from his face.

“I mean, I had plans when I was young,” he continued. “And I used to be bothered when they got subverted by other events. You know?”

She nodded, because the feeling felt familiar, but she wouldn’t have phrased it as he did.

“Then I thought, maybe they were naïve plans and that’s why they didn’t work out. So, I made new plans. Better ones. But they didn’t work out either. And now I’m left to wonder why people plan at all. Like… I don’t know what happens _next_ , and history suggests that if I make a plan, it won’t work out the way I intend it, so… what do I do?”

She sighed and watched it goosepimple the skin across his pecs. “I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask about planning. I’ve always been pretty bad at it.”

“Hmmm,” he rumbled, but didn’t follow it up with anything. And suddenly she felt as if _one of them_ had to figure something out about this. Why not her? It couldn’t hurt to try.

“Maybe our plans are just the start,” she murmured and waited for his eyes to find her again. “Like you said back in New York: we had a story, you and I, and it felt complete. But here we are, marching right past ‘the end’ and thumbing our noses at it.”

His mouth lifted in a smirk, and his hand curled over her arm, warming it.

“Maybe plans are just the skeleton, and what gets fleshed out from that becomes our lives. They’re important, but not predictive. I mean, I _planned_ to get into the FBI, and that happened, didn’t it? Just not the way I intended.”

“Yeah,” he agreed but seemed unconvinced. She shuffled up his chest a little until his eyes skimmed back to her.

“You planned on loving me,” she said, heart beating a little faster against him.

“I _wanted_ to love you. I didn’t think it would happen. It wasn’t a plan.”

“Sure, it was. You lived inside your head with me for years. We were a family. And now we’re here _together_ , for real. Are you saying that doesn’t feel like a plan?”

“I… but,” he swallowed awkwardly and blinked. “I didn’t plan that. After I left the Bureau, I never thought I’d see you again.”

She twitched at the finality of his statement; her gut turned cold. No matter how much she tried to push him out of her mind over the years, she always knew he was _out there_ somewhere. The possibility of finding him again always existed in some dim corner of her. But not for him.

“But… you said you wrote your book for me…”

He nodded slowly, eyes sad. “I did. But only for you to read. I never thought we’d meet again.”

“I… I don’t understand,” she choked, feeling cold in the cooling bathwater, even with his heat against her.

He sighed.

“I’ve written things before: papers, studies, articles, textbooks… But they were academic. When Rossi put the idea of writing something else in my head, I wasn’t sure I had the skill to pull it off. After all, storytelling is the art of connecting.”

He shifted and settled her more comfortably in the crook of his arm.

“I don’t know how to connect with people, so this seemed like a considerable hurdle to overcome. But… I spent some time rolling it around in my head and… I discovered a reason to write that I never had before.”

“What was it?” she whispered.

“To cheat death.”

Emily blinked. “What?”

“We write things down to pass them on, to outlive us,” he explained. “We preserve knowledge and experience for others to absorb whom we will never know or meet. I realized that I didn’t have to connect with thousands of faceless readers – that’s impossible. All I had to do was write something to myself, like I was reminding myself of all these experiences and feelings that happened to me. A feeling or a thought lives in your mind, and in the minds of those you shared it with. But when you and they are gone, so are those… wonderful moments. In writing them down, I save them from disappearing, from becoming nothing again.”

He watched her closely.

“We read to know we’re not alone, and I suppose we write for the same reason. I wrote my story, as if to myself, and then I sent it into the world so anyone who cared to crack the cover would see my love story for a handful of truly remarkable people, and one irreplaceable woman.”

He dipped in and pressed his lips to her forehead, lingering there for a long moment.

“I hoped you would read it, but I didn’t think it would change anything. I just didn’t want all of the feelings I had to end with me, to never live outside of my head.”

She watched him, letting his words and the loneliness behind them sink into her. She felt them, knew that an echo of them existed in her, and she considered that for a long moment before she quietly pushed them aside and reached for him. Her hand rose, tracing the sharp lines around his mouth, water dripping down and plinking onto his chest. He was quiet and still, pupils wide as he wondered what she was thinking.

“That proves my point,” she whispered eventually, and his forehead creased in confusion. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, over and over. “You made a choice about what to say and how to say it and even why it needed to exist in the first place. And I saw it, I understood it.”

She paused and watched that seep into him.

“Then we met again. Perhaps that wasn’t planned by either of us, but it led us here.” She huddled a little closer, making the water ripple around them as the winds continued to howl mutely beyond the door. “You got what you wanted, Spence. You connected. We both did.”

His eyebrows rose slowly, as if the idea was utterly surprising, and she had to hide the urge to laugh that someone so insightful had such a huge blindspot.

“You wanted something, and you found a way to attain it. It just took a meandering, unforeseen route. So… we make plans, and then life is the stuff that results from them. It’s just not a straightforward equation is all.”

She waited for him, observing as his gaze went distant and he started to blink a lot. Eventually, his focus drifted back, and his expression melted into something so soft and close it made her chest ache.

“I… I get it, you know,” she mumbled. “It’s anxious and confusing, and it only makes sense in hindsight. It’s disturbing to me, so it must be very unsettling for you. But, truthfully, I don’t think any of us gets a say in the matter.”

His hand rose slowly from the bath, cupping her gently as a smile slowly dawned over him. “So, we just keep planning, huh?”

“Yep.”

He held her face and let his gaze take all of her in.

“This is why I need you,” he whispered. “To pull me out of my head.”

“Okay,” she smiled and popped her chin on his chest, like it was no big deal. Neither one of them felt as if they’d just agreed to put a new plan into action.


	21. Chapter 21

They emerged two days later into the damp hotel lobby, half-starved, Emily in wrinkled, rain-stiff clothes and, well, _stiff_ all over. Her body was busy telling her that she had to respect her age a little more, but there was something about the ache of her muscles, the finger bruises on her hips and back, the bites that scratched under her clothes that she treasured. It was a secret language between them, something much more than their daylight selves and their playful banter. No one had permission to read this language, though Emily did see the concierge’s eyebrow arch briefly when her shirt shifted while Spencer checked out and returned his key card.

_Yeah, asshat, he REALLY knows me…_

The rental car survived, though it took her fifteen minutes to get it started and Spencer had to help push it to higher ground so the exhaust system wouldn’t keep flooding. Then they were on the road and heading north through heavy, though no longer apocalyptic, rain. Half a day later, they were at the Atlanta airport, tickets in hand, headed in opposite directions once more.

He held her close, fingers digging into her waist, foreheads together as he just breathed and ignored what was coming. The preliminary boarding call for his flight to Austin sounded over the loudspeakers, and her chest tightened. He must have felt it, because his grip got tighter.

“Thank you for following me into a hurricane,” he murmured wetly, throat working hard to keep things even.

“Any time,” she snarked back, and then immediately regretted its glibness. That wasn’t what she wanted to say. She could barely breathe. He was slipping away again. Why were they always _doing_ that?

“I don’t want you to leave.” It snuck out of her while she was quietly panicking. His eyes flicked to hers, huge and glassy behind his lenses.

“I don’t want to leave either,” he whispered, and it cracked her heart a little.

“Fuck,” she muttered. They were adults – this was happening – but… _fuck._ “This is gonna hurt.”

He brushed his lips over her cheek for an instant, just a whisper of warmth and then it was gone. “Just for a while. We have to stretch that electromagnetic orbit to its limits. But not forever.”

She felt her mouth curl into a small smile. “God, you’re such a nerd.”

“But I’m your nerd, so that makes me sorta cool. Like, King Nerd, or something,” he smiled back. She made a painful noise she couldn’t swallow down, and one of his hands rose to quickly clasp her jaw and hold her to him. “Hey, don’t, okay? I’ve made a plan. It’ll all work out. I think.”

“You made a plan?” she choked, and he nodded against her. “Gonna share it with me?”

He made an ambivalent noise in his throat and she watched his mouth tighten. Then he shrugged it away and pulled her a little closer.

“Come to California for Christmas this year. We can decorate a palm tree and complain about winter humidity… you can witness the horror of me in shorts again… I could show you L.A. and we could take Follow to the beach to get covered in saltwater and sand.”

She wrinkled her nose at the thought of a filthy Follow, but she chuckled when she imagined him barking and rolling on the beach like a crazed idiot.

“We could even drive up to San Jose to visit Hotch if you want.” He watched her carefully, features blurred because they were so close together. His flight number was called again over the PA system. “I haven’t celebrated Christmas in years,” he murmured softly.

“Okay. Yeah. Christmas in Cali. Yer on,” she nodded, pushing back everything else. Five weeks. Christmas was five weeks away…

His grin got reckless and toothy on him, and then he was kissing her both too softly and too deeply to be done in public. His hands slid along her back, and into her hair, and when they slipped apart it was her who gusted out a wet ‘love you’ before he could. She felt her cheeks heat and wondered how wrecked she looked to him, but he cupped her close and stared her down.

“Don’t dream that we’re done with this,” he murmured lowly, with an edge to it she didn’t expect. It snaked down into her and lit something warm in her gut. “Don’t say things to me now because you think you won’t have another opportunity, Em. We’ve been at this for nearly twenty years. I’m not giving up now.”

She barked out a wet laugh. “Stubborn.”

“You bet,” he brushed against her mouth, and then gave her lips a quick nip. “I can’t wait for Christmas. Something to look forward to for once.”

She hummed and smiled, then kissed him deeply but not as if it were the last time. His flight was called again, and he pulled away, blinking a little too much but grinning like a fool.

“Christmas with me and my knobby knees,” he declared loudly as he backed towards the departure gate. “It’s gonna be great, Em.”

She waved at him as he waved recklessly back, still walking backwards into the crowd. She couldn’t help but laugh at him.

“Watch where you’re going, dumbass,” she yelled as he almost toppled over a baby stroller. But he popped back up and grinned.

“Bye, Em! See you soon!” He bounced up and down in the crowd a few times until it succeeded in swallowing him. She kept laughing long after he disappeared.

“I can’t wait either,” she murmured.

*END OF PART 5*


	22. Chapter 22

They talked or texted every day for the next five weeks as they settled back into their lives: he, gratefully back into teaching and off the road, and she into the routine of work, and Follow, and the hustle of Manhattan life. The madness of the hurricane ebbed, but it never entirely faded; where they had previously talked like old friends, they now had that plus a heated edge to them that was never far from the surface. It both unnerved and relieved Emily because it was new and what she craved, she just wasn’t sure how to keep it going. Perhaps it unnerved Spencer as well. Some conversations were as if Savannah never happened, and then there were others where they breathed crazed, secret things without warning, frustrating each other into pointed silence that neither would hang up on. And there was at least one night when he talked her _into_ a climax, and she lay wrecked and mute across her couch afterwards with Spencer’s stuttered breathing too close to the phone.

“Amazing,” he gulped, and she rolled towards his voice, cupping the phone to her.

“Why aren’t you here?” she whispered pointlessly.

“Soon,” he replied, but she didn’t know if he was talking about the holidays or something else.

He was working hard on his thesis defense in the weeks leading up to Christmas and more than once she commented on how tired he sounded.

“You should take it easy. You’re no spring chicken anymore,” she mocked.

“Gee, thanks,” he huffed back. “All the more reason to rush, since I’m now just an aging nerd and not a dewy ingenue…”

“Dewy ingenue?” she cackled. “Holy shit, that’s a mental picture.”

He laughed back across the line, but responded with, “it’ll be worth it” as she was imagining him as a library pixie in tweed or something.

Emily made it through December, the stuffy company Christmas party, and the inevitable conversation with her mother that she wasn’t coming to Connecticut for the holidays. With all of that behind her, she just had to face getting out of New York with a Nor’easter bearing down on the airports, and Follow howling miserably from his travel cage destined for the cargo hold.

“Easy buddy,” she mumbled nervously as he frantically licked her fingers through the bars before the airline porter wheeled him away. “It’ll be alright. And when it’s over, your boyfriend will be there. He’ll be so happy to see you.”

But Follow howled as if he were being dragged to slaughter, and Emily wondered if she’d be able to hear him in the cabin, complaining the entire 2,700 miles to California.

When they landed, she remembered how much she hated cross-country flights. She was exhausted and no longer had the badge that got her through security and made people hop to it when she asked for things. She only went to the west coast twice a year for Pendleton, but at least she flew privately for those meaningless meetings with lesser security experts who sometimes veered off the ranch without her approval. Otherwise, she’d had her fill of traveling between her childhood and the Bureau. If Spencer knew that he might be the only reason for her to get up and willingly cross the continent…

Emily freed Follow from his travel cage as soon as she retrieved him from baggage claim. The security officer started talking loudly about animal control laws, but she popped both Follow and her bag on top of the rolling cage and wheeled them all towards the arrivals area. Follow panted happily at her, tail thumping the cage’s roof as she told the security guy to “can it”. She was on her way out anyway – soon to be no one’s problem. 

She rolled them to the arrivals area and felt as if she were dragging ass, but then Follow stood up on the cage, tail stiff and flailing. When she traced his gaze, she saw Spencer waving madly beyond the barrier. She wheeled them through the crowd, and before she could stop him, Follow launched himself to the floor and raced towards Spencer. Spencer made an unsettling noise and looked horrified as Follow propelled himself at his torso. But Spencer caught him awkwardly and held Follow’s excited tongue at bay as the crowd around him either aww-d or yelped. Emily rolled up, chuckling as Spencer fought Follow and Follow fought to love him. 

“I see that the mancrush is still alive and well…”

“Uh… yeah, I guess… can you… uh….”

She let the wiggling continue a little longer before she pulled Follow from Spencer’s hands and set him on the ground. Follow rocked back on his hind legs, whimpering and looking pitiful until Spencer ran his fingers through his scruff and told him he was delighted to see him.

“Delighted to see you too,” he said in an entirely darker tone when he wrapped his arms around Emily and pulled her in.

“Hi,” she said quietly, grinning as their lips brushed. She was lit from that alone, exhaustion forgotten. “You feel good.”

“Yeah?” he grinned and then squeezed her tight, lifting her off her feet for a moment and burying his face in her neck. “I didn’t sleep at all last night. I was so excited about today…”

 _Fuck._ Her fingers dug into his jacket.

“Can we get outta here? I feel like I’m moments away from doing something really unsuitable for public display.”

“O-okay, sure. Yeah… this way,” he blushed, but pulled her with him. Follow trotted happily beside them, oblivious to imminent impropriety.

It took a while to get to his house in Pasadena, and Emily found it difficult to focus on casual banter. Her eyes narrowed to his long fingers on the steering wheel, the shadows of the freeway lights passing over his face, his hair curling over his collar, now just a shade too long to be considered eccentric… When they pulled into his driveway, she only felt about forty percent in control of herself. She hoped he wouldn’t be too shocked when she pounced.

He let them in, chattering away about plans to drive up the coast, lugging her bags into a cluttered living room, and then introducing Follow to the modest yard out back.

“Don’t worry, it’s securely fenced. The last own-”

She pushed him hard against the wall and kissed him until his meep of shock turned into a groan deep in his chest. His hands rose quickly, grabbing bunches of her leather jacket and pulling her in.

“Wow… you weren’t joking…” he gasped when she let him come up for air. His cheeks were rosy, and then she was rubbing against their heat with hers like a demented cat. Her hands scrabbled down his body and started yanking at clothes randomly.

“I have a bit of a hair trigger for you. You’ve set off something dangerous…” She sucked him back to her, smiling when he met her with equal enthusiasm, and his belt jangled against her fingers when she loosened it. “Please… can we do this? Or I’m gonna burst…”

“No bursting in my house without my permission,” he bit into her lips, and her whole body went molten on her at his tone. His hands grabbed her roughly, squeezing and skimming as he kissed the shock from her. Then he spun her suddenly, hand firmly along her back. “Bedroom. I don’t want the dog watching us.”

It was more urgent than she thought he could be. He had her free of her clothes and her thighs around his neck before she could comprehend it. His mouth was hot, roving, brutal, and as she arched away from the mattress crying softly and clenching fistfuls of pillow to keep from clawing him, she fleetingly wondered if his confidence was proof he imagined this scenario over and over. She flushed against him and he groaned into her, then she swore loudly and used the same tone to say his name. The next thing she knew, he was curled up her body and pushing the taste of her into her mouth.

“Okay?” he gasped, the weight of him scorching and hard where she was wet and aching. She took his mouth roughly instead of responding, wiggling under him to rub the ache to something better. “Still need to burst?”

She nodded, keening when he shifted and smooth pressure teased her where she most wanted it.

“I can help with that,” he growled, and she nearly came right then. His voice changed again, getting closer and warmer. “I so want to help you with that, Em…”

Then he was pumping between her legs, fast and deep, arms straining on either side of her and hair swinging into his face from the effort. She gripped him tightly, squeezing with her legs, fingers digging into the muscles flexing along his lower back. This time the world was quiet enough to hear everything: the sheets creasing, his feet slipping, the mattress squeaking, their breath and whines and the slide of their skin over each other. Then there was something new. He started mumbling, and it didn’t seem under his control, just a long stream of consciousness dropping from him to her mouth and eyes and skin.

“…oh _Em_ … missed you… missed you here in the dark… waiting for your hands, your breath, your voice to make me crazy… wanted your arms around me… wanted to be buried in you… wanted to hear your laugh… the cry before you come… wanted you to leave marks on me again… wanted to give it all away to you… _because_ of you…”

She remembered what he told her, his confession about what got him off.

“Can’t trust anyone but you with this,” she gasped, and felt his pace slow. She watched his face, his expression overwhelmed. “Never trusted anyone to be this _fucked_ out of their minds with me when I need it. And I _need it_ , Spence. Need to be lost like this with you, and then wake up found by you.”

His whole body twitched, like a bell sounding throughout him.

“You’ve got my back in everything, right?” she whined and arched under him, and then, without a word, he picked up exactly where he left off.

He dipped his face into her neck. “Yes,” he licked into her.

“Every way that counts,” she moaned, twisting, catching him just the right way as he drove forward.

“Yes,” he moaned.

“And this counts so much… Christ, do you know how much I love this already?”

He made that animal noise from Savannah, the one that sounded like dying and coming simultaneously, and she curled up around it, dimly realizing he’d made her come with his voice again.

“… _needit_ …”

She cried out, giving up and giving in as he throbbed over her, and then fell into it as well. They were frantic together for a handful of moments. His teeth found her, and her nails marked him. Then he was gentle – the way she’d always known him – flopping beside her bonelessly, kissing her shoulder with care though he was racing to catch his breath, hands soothing over her heated skin.

“Ugh…” he gasped, and she chuckled. Then he pulled it together. “I’m so happy you’re here… and _really_ happy Follow wasn’t around for that.”

She laughed, and as if on cue, Follow barked from outside in the yard. Spencer grumbled into her skin, pulling her into his chest.

“He won’t forgive me, will he?”

“Sure, he will,” she kissed into him. “Just as soon as he figures out you aren’t trying to murder me.”

“Hmmm, I guess it does look a little like murder out of context, doesn’t it?”

She laughed openly, rocking into him as he curled her up and chuckled. He stroked lines into her until their amusement faded and then his lips moved to her throat.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

“Missed you too, dork.”

He smiled against her skin. She yawned hugely.

“Tired?”

“Mmmm, a little. Maybe.”

“Sleep if you have to. The time difference is rougher coming west. It’s still early for me.”

He shuffled and pulled a sheet over her, tucking her in like a kid.

“You going somewhere?” she asked.

“Uh, well, I kinda have to. One last thing to do before the term ends… Stay, rest. I’ll be back soon.”

She propped herself up on her elbows, sheet slipping down over her breasts. “Nonsense. What do you have to do?”

“Umm…” His hand moved to his hair and made a mess of his already messy tangles. “Well… Do you… want to go to a party?”

And that’s how she ended up at the Caltech science and mathematics faculty Christmas party, in the only fancy dress she brought with her, and feeling slightly worried that her make-up hadn’t covered her hickeys sufficiently.

“Have I mentioned that you are both the _best_ sidekick ever as well as the most beautiful woman here?” 

He pressed a glass of chardonnay into her hands and looked apologetic. He was also charmingly tousled, bespectacled, and swathed in a choice selection of greys and purples. If she wasn’t on her best behavior, they were going to end up grappling in a closet somewhere. This affair was going to be the death of her – she was too old for this. She rolled her eyes at him and sipped her wine.

“You’re still in the grips of afterglow,” she murmured, and his cheeks pinked up. But he skimmed a hand along the small of her back and lightly kissed her cheek anyway.

“That may be true,” he murmured, sending a heated zip along her spine. “But your beauty is unassailable.”

She smiled and pushed back against his hand ever so slightly. “Careful. We could set something off again.”

“That could prove to be awkward.”

“Yes. So, where is your thesis advisor? You’d better go have that chat with him while the going’s good.”

“Hmmm.” Spencer squinted and scanned the room, eventually finding his intended target. “There’s Hugo. I’ll make this quick. I promise.”

“Go,” she shooed him. “Don’t worry about me. I have wine.” She winked at him and he slipped from her reluctantly.

She mingled briefly but didn’t really speak to anyone. The shocked glances she received were off-putting, and she couldn’t decide if they were the result of social awkwardness or legitimate confusion at her appearance. She finished her wine and thought about ducking out into the courtyard for some relief, when a woman with a cheery face and a wild explosion of kinky hair waved at her and waded through the crowd. Emily glanced around her but, no, the woman was waving at her. She stood her ground and fixed her best diplomat’s daughter smile to her face as the woman arrived with a twinkling smile and a gasp of relief.

“Well! What a snooze-fest this is, huh? I saw you over here and figured from the escalating panic on your face that you didn’t know anyone. Honestly, he should’ve introduced you to at least one person before abandoning you to these dullards.”

Emily blinked rapidly. “You mean Spencer?”

“Yes,” the woman sighed, her bracelets jangling musically on her thin, dark wrists. “He’s such a social maroon sometimes. Oh! And so am I, I suppose.” She grinned and held out a bejeweled hand to Emily. “How rude… I’m Petra Ellison. Nice to meet you.”

Oh. _Oh._ Emily shook Petra’s hand, a little stunned by her ebullience and her expressive eyes. How much had she seen, she wondered…

“Spencer and I are friends. And colleagues. But mostly friends,” Petra’s grin was blinding. “We’re in different departments, so… you know, academia doesn’t like it when you cross the streams…”

Petra giggled, and Emily found the woman’s joy was just infectious enough to make her giggle as well. _Just go with it. What else can you do?_

“Oh, he’s mentioned you,” Emily found both her voice and her manners. “He says you have these mad talks about math all the time…”

Petra giggled some more, knocking Emily lightly with her shoulder. “Math nerds, that’s us. It’s wonderful when you meet someone who speaks the same dialect of geek as you do, ya know? How do you know him? You’re not from Caltech, are you?”

“Oh, no. Spencer and I used to work together. We’re old friends.”

_Friends? Why had she said that?_

“I’m here visiting for the holidays. I’m Emily, by the way. Sorry.” Emily gave Petra a winning smile just as Petra’s dimmed ever so slightly.

“Emily… Emily from the FBI?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Petra’s smile changed, no less friendly but a little more subdued. “He told me about you too.”

Emily swallowed. “He did?”

“Yeah. He said you were his best friend.”

“Oh, that’s kind of him.”

Petra’s eyes flicked over Emily quickly. Then she shrugged and smiled. “This explains so much.”

“Pardon?” Emily felt something cool zip over her. Petra looked her straight in the eye.

“He’s been so much happier lately. But I couldn’t get out of him what had changed. I thought maybe it was the book, but this… this makes a lot more sense.”

“Petra, I’m not sure what-”

“He’s not a guy I’d ever describe as being conspicuously happy,” Petra interrupted, and Emily blinked in confusion because ‘happy’ was definitely a word she’d use to describe Spencer Reid. “Not since I’ve known him, anyway. That was always frustrating to me. Because he brings a lot of joy to this stuffy place. Maybe he doesn’t even realize it.”

Emily sighed, letting her defenses drop a little. “He has a warped sense of his worth. It’s infuriating.”

“He does,” Petra’s mouth curled. “But at least you already know that about him.”

Emily shrugged.

“I’m glad you two found your way back to each other,” Petra said after a thoughtful moment.

“Petra,” Emily said quietly. “What did he tell you about me?”

Petra just smiled. “I want him to be happy. When I saw him walk in beside you, he looked like he was ten feet tall. He’s different now. It’s good to see.”

A hand skimmed along Emily’s back and she twitched to the side. Spencer was there with subdued tension and an odd smile. “My ears are burning. What are you two doing?”

Petra grinned at him, and it wasn’t forced or edged with anything. She swept forward and gave him a wet kiss on the cheek, with a hushed, “hello, hon” before she backed away again.

“Emily and I were trading notes,” she said.

“We weren’t,” Emily assured him, but Petra just wiggled her eyebrows and smiled.

“Petra,” Spencer warned, but with a curl to his lips. “Quit being evil.”

“What fun would that be?” she giggled back, then clasped Emily’s hand in hers. “We were just getting to know one another. Emily’s delightful.”

Petra said it with an enthusiasm and genuineness that didn’t befit their brief introduction, but when Emily glanced at her, she saw the same warmth in her eyes that she’d just given to Spencer. It left her a little stunned and she ended up stuttering out modest denials until Spencer curled her closer and said, “Yes, I’ve always thought so” with a face-splitting grin for her.

He wasn’t abashed or upset, wasn’t fumbling over himself to get out of something awkward. Emily blinked at him, and then to Petra, saw their matching smiles and realized that no bullshit lived between them. It was a shade of the frankness that had always defined her friendship with Spencer. This was how he was with people he trusted intimately, completely. This was how he loved. Then Emily was muted by awe, and she stopped worrying about whatever Petra knew or didn’t know about them.

“Why on earth did you drag her to a faculty party, Spencer? Honestly, couldn’t you have had her teeth pulled instead?” Petra gave him a mock-scowl.

“I had to catch Hugo before the break. About my thesis.” His eyes roamed over the crowd. “You know I hate these things…”

“Well, at least you’ve given everyone something to whisper about. The bestselling badass author with the pretty lady on his arm. Show-off.” Petra winked, and Spencer rolled his eyes at her. “Faculty gossip is the gift that keeps on giving. Well done, you, and Merry Christmas to us.”

“You’re ludicrous, Pet,” Spencer grumbled.

“If by that you’re implying that I make my own fun, then, yes. Guilty as charged,” she responded sweetly, and Emily chuckled. She reminded her a little of Garcia.

“What are you doing at this thing? You hate them just as much as I do…” Spencer tried to change the subject.

“I’m killing time,” Petra huffed. “Jean-Louis is at his own faculty mixer, and then we have a late flight out of LAX. I thought that I might as well show my face here.”

“Where are you going?” Emily asked. Petra lit up.

“My boyfriend’s taking me to France for the holidays. His family has a home somewhere in Burgundy,” Petra’s hands flashed making her bracelets jingle. “I’ve never been outside of the U.S. Can you imagine? I’m so excited.”

“That’s great, Pet,” Spencer smiled warmly. “I’m glad things are going well with him.”

“Burgundy has some lovely countryside. And some formidable estates,” Emily added.

“You’ve been?” Petra asked. Emily nodded.

“I lived there for a time. In a bunch of different places.”

“That must have been wonderful.” Petra looked in awe.

“It was… an adventure,” Emily sighed, and then felt Spencer’s hand curl around her just a little tighter. “I’m sure it’ll be a Christmas to remember.”

“Yes, well, let’s hope your holiday is the same, and that you haven’t peaked at this faculty party.” Petra shot Spencer a look. “Tell me you have fun stuff planned for her, Spence. Not sudoku and trips to Venice Beach to watch you swim. Oh god… you’re not taking her to the La Brea Tar Pits, are you?”

Emily laughed at Petra’s mild horror on her behalf. “What are those?”

“We’re not going to the Tar Pits,” Spencer glared at Petra. Petra glared right back.

“You love the Tar Pits.”

Spencer’s eyes dropped, and his cheeks got rosy. “Yeah, I do…” Emily laughed harder.

“Maybe we’ll have to go then.” She smirked but Spencer’s gaze flicked to hers hopefully. She heard Petra huff next to her.

“It’s a toxic swamp that kills things and burps them back up occasionally. If you go, it proves that you really love his nerdy soul,” Petra said and then fell under both of their gazes. She smiled cheerfully and gave them a fond look. “But never mind me. You’ll have a great time, I’m sure. But you should both bail on this party as soon as possible. That’s my plan as well as my advice.”

Spencer’s expression got soft, and his hand slid away from Emily as he stepped forward to wrap Petra in an expansive hug.

“Merry Christmas, Pet. Glad I saw you before you left.”

“Me too, hon.” She pulled back and blinked a lot while smiling at him. “We’ll have coffee when I get back. Trade some stories, okay?”

He nodded, and she stroked his arm once before pulling away and turning to Emily.

“Good to finally meet you, Emily,” she said, and then hesitated for an instant before stepping close to give Emily her own hug. Emily went with it, shocked and blinking. “I hope you have a Christmas to remember too.”

Petra backed away as Emily mumbled a goodbye, then whispered, “Treat her right” at Spencer before she sailed into the faculty crowd again. Emily watched her go with a strange mix of curiosity and apprehension; Petra seemed funny and kind, and she understood a lot about Spencer. Emily couldn’t help but wonder why they hadn’t worked out.

“What did she mean?” she asked as Spencer turned away from the crowd and shuffled closer to her. His smile faded, and small lines popped up at the corners of his eyes. His hand found its way to her back again.

“Let’s get out of here.”

He was silent as they left the building and walked towards his car at the far end of the faculty lot. Emily felt the lightness of the party fall away from them as the sounds and lights faded behind them.

“What did she mean, ‘treat her right’?” she asked again as he fished out his keys. Spencer sighed and turned to face her.

“When we broke up, Petra said I was locked up. Emotionally. I wouldn’t let her in enough. I wouldn’t _give_ enough. She said it wasn’t right to treat someone who opened themselves to you with a half-effort like I did.”

He watched her carefully over the hood of his car.

“I… I thought you said that you mutually broke it off.”

“We did, but it wasn’t bloodless. It hurt us both. There _were_ feelings involved despite Petra’s analysis.”

Emily thought about that quietly for a moment.

“We spent some time apart, and then she reached out again, this time as a friend,” he continued when she didn’t. “That’s when I knew what sort of a person she was. She put aside the hurt and rose above it for the sake of our friendship.”

Emily met his eyes and he was caught in a sad sort of smile. “She’s a very good friend to me. But that doesn’t entirely stop her from taking jabs at my personal life.” His lips curled into a smirk and he unlocked the car.

“She said something odd to me,” Emily mumbled, and Spencer raised his head to look at her again.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. She said she’s never known you to be happy. That didn’t make sense to me because, as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been a happy guy. Relatively, anyway. Then I decided she didn’t really know you well, but… she sorta does. That’s obvious by the way you two are together.”

Spencer’s brow creased as he watched her.

“So, now I don’t know which one of us is right,” Emily concluded.

Spencer watched her a moment longer and then cleared his throat, slowly rounding the car to stand in front of her.

“I don’t think I was very happy around Petra.”

“But why? I mean… she’s funny and sharp and unusual… she’s kinda amazing.”

“She is,” he nodded and then reached for her hand, warming her fingers in his. “But the whole time we were together, I was half looking over my shoulder at the memory of you, Em. I guess… that loss leaked through and Petra was especially sensitive to it.”

He stepped closer until they brushed together, the hem of her dress fluting around his legs in the breeze, and his breath warming her face. His free hand collected hers, and then clasped them together lightly between their bodies. His fingers laced through hers and she watched them as they curled gently, his thumbs skimming in light circles.

“And there was another thing,” he whispered, his words tickling her lips, but his eyes fixed on their hands as they leaned in. “Petra and I… we never had that thing between us… what you mentioned before, that could be set off so easily?”

“A physical charge,” Emily murmured, not knowing if that was the right term, though it felt like that to her. But Spencer nodded in agreement against her, so at least he understood.

“Yeah,” he swallowed, and brushed his mouth against her cheek. “I was attracted to her but… there was never this… urgency that flowed between us. I was never desperate for her when she wasn’t around. When it comes right down to it, I guess we’re talking about need. I didn’t need her the way I need you.”

Emily shivered a little and Spencer dipped in for a chaste kiss. When they slipped apart, Emily immediately wanted him back. Yeah, she guessed they were discussing need after all.

“But does _needing_ make you happy, Spence?” she whispered and then held her breath waiting for him. Because they had to be doing this for happiness – finally – or it just wasn’t worth it.

“Yes.” It shivered out of him, more like instinct than conscious thought. “I don’t know why but needing you has always made me happy on some level.”

She kissed him softly in the evening breeze. The realization shook her; she’d conspicuously avoided being essential to anyone for most of her life. And she never imagined anyone would be vital to her, ever. There was less disappointment in that belief, less mess – it made things easier. But she stood in that parking lot, holding Spencer’s heat close, and discovered she’d take that now, willingly. Even if a part of her that she relied on for survival told her to cut loose and run as fast as she could. Needing things just meant you had stuff you could lose, and she wasn’t well-practiced at losing.

 

When she woke the next morning, too early due to the time difference, she sighed to find herself in a warm knot of linens with Spencer to one side and Follow between their legs. She looked at the snuffling dog ruefully. He had been told to sleep out in the living room but had obviously snuck in at some point in the night.

“You’re gonna upset your boyfriend, buddy,” she whispered.

“No, he won’t,” Spencer slurred without opening his eyes. His hands pulled her a little closer as he snuggled into his pillow. “Never thought he’d stay where he was told…”

Emily smiled and shuffled until she could plant a kiss on his mouth. His eyes flicked and then opened, though it was clear that he was only half-awake.

“Mmmmm…” he breathed.

“Morning.”

“Too early.”

“I know. Go back to sleep.”

“ ‘Kay…” He burrowed into his pillow like he was settling in for the winter.

“I can go for a run or something.”

“Hmmmphf…”

“And when I get back, we can plan a trip to the Tar Pits…”

One of his eyes flicked open, the other buried against the pillows. She grinned at him.

“Tar Pits?” It came muffled from behind the sheets.

Emily nodded and leaned up on one elbow.

“Really?” His head popped up, hair tangled, but eyes wide and blinking. Follow raised his head from the blankets with an interrogative whine.

“Well, you like them, right?”

He nodded vigorously, his hair flopping around comically. “They are really cool, I swear. Like, _geologically_ cool…”

She laughed at him and his now fully-alert blinking and enthusiasm. 

“I’m not sure you’re making the strongest case for them right now.”

“But they preserve things so well. And it’s a window into the prehistoric. They aren’t as old as that, but the geological mechanism is the same as many valuable fossil recovery sites around the world. Wait, wait… I have a book that explains it a little better… it has diagrams… hold on…”

He leapt out of bed and ran from the room in only his boxers while Emily laughed and Follow growled at the disruption. Muted banging came from the living room as Spencer presumably searched his bookshelves for the enlightenment Emily required.

“So cool…” she heard him mumble from beyond the doorway and she snorted, falling back into the bed with a smile. She really did love his nerdy soul.


	23. Chapter 23

Her week in L.A. was filled with activity. They visited The Getty Center and The Huntington Library and Botanical Gardens. She wasn’t as jazzed about the Tar Pits as he was, but she was in full geek mode when he took her to the Griffith Observatory and went on and on about distant galaxies, long-range sensory probes, and the new things they were learning about black holes. He took her and Follow to Venice Beach, wearing his much-dreaded shorts that she made him pose in for photos. His face flamed, and he complained bitterly until she found a skateboarding shop on the boardwalk and bought him new trucks for his longboard that he’d been talking about for months. Follow wriggled in the sand like a clam and made friends with every passing stranger, ending up in more than a few random holiday snapshots of families and couples he didn’t know. And Spencer even planned a day that was just about her: stops at the grittiest, best music and comic shops L.A. had to offer, long conversations with the staff at Amoeba that lost him completely but made her feel like a twenty-year-old Goth again, and a greasy meal at Philippe The Original that left them happy and over-full for the rest of the day. There was even a Christmas Eve drive down Mulholland and a rest at a turnout to watch the city stretched below them twinkling in the dark. That led to some delightfully juvenile sex in the backseat of Spencer’s old beater, and it was the only time Emily appreciated his taste in clunky land yachts. 

In short, the first ten days was a vacation. But the time between Boxing Day and New Year’s was less frivolous. At some point Emily decided that they had to start talking about a plan, whatever it turned out to be, because the vacation part alone had convinced her that she wasn’t going to handle the separation well afterwards. That stupid _needing_ shit she’d spent her life avoiding now seemed firmly entrenched. She already enjoyed the knowledge of his presence in the next room, or the way they could settle in to read together at night, comfortable but in their own heads. Putting a continent between that again didn’t feel like progress. She just wanted a timeline to gage herself against; she could handle almost anything if she knew what the endgame was. But Spencer skirted these conversations whenever they were brought up, distracting her with an outing, or a meandering segue, and eventually, the trip up to San Jose to visit Hotch.

“We have to discuss this eventually,” she grumbled from the passenger seat while Spencer pretended to focus entirely on driving. “And I kinda don’t want Aaron Hotchner to be an audience for that conversation.”

Spencer hummed non-committally as he searched for the correct off-ramp. “Aaron has great insight into personal challenges. And it doesn’t come off ‘profiler-y’ at all…”

Emily huffed and looked out the window at the passing landscape. “That’s not the point I was making…”

“We’ll discuss it later.”

“Spencer, why are we avoiding this exactly?”

His eyes flicked to hers quickly before returning to the road. “I’m not avoiding it. I just don’t want to get into it when we are fifteen minutes away from Aaron’s place. Trust me, okay, Em? You trust me, don’t you?”

There was only one correct answer to that question and it effectively ended their discussion, as he intended, she thought resentfully. But then they were pulling up to an expansive ranch-style bungalow with an impressive yard, and Spencer was grinning at the verdant domesticity that visibly shocked Emily. Every square inch of the exterior was planted up, pruned and lush; she had no idea her former boss was such a nurturer.

“I don’t think he gardened a day in his life when he worked at the Bureau,” Spencer chuckled as he watched her expression. “But once he decided to try it – in typical Hotch fashion – he launched out of the gates excelling at it.”

“It’s _weird_ ,” she breathed, as they walked the path to the front door, Follow flitting around sniffing the edges of the flowerbeds. “Don’t you think it’s a little fucking weird?”

Spencer shrugged. “He could’ve taken up ritual killing. Horticulture is remarkably average. Perspective, Em…”

Hotch opened the door and Emily almost didn’t recognize him with his steel-grey floppy hair, deep tan, and easy smile that crinkled his face up as he wrapped Spencer in a genuine hug.

“You made good time,” he rumbled warmly when he backed away, still grinning. “Were you lead-footing it again, Spence?”

Spencer chuckled, and Emily’s eyebrows tried to make a break for freedom.

“Lead-footing it?”

Hotch swooped in and collected her up in a hug, the likes of which he’d never bestowed on her before. Follow growled softly, but Emily heard Spencer murmur, “it’s okay, buddy”, and he stopped. She huffed in surprise and squeezed Aaron back affectionately. Had he always been this way? Had the job constrained him _that much?_ When he backed away, he left a light peck along her cheek.

“Hello, Emily,” he said. “Look at you… stunning as ever.”

She blushed. _Blushed_ at the man she’d assumed always saw her solely as a brain with legs and a license to carry.

“Flatterer,” she stuttered. “I just got old and grey.”

Hotch shook his head. “You’re doing it beautifully. The rest of us are merely coping.” He stepped to the side and peered down at Follow, who appeared to be judging him with a furry scowl. “And who’s this?”

“This is Follow,” Spencer beamed, rolling on his heels a little. Hotch glanced at them both.

“You have a dog?”

“He’s mine,” Emily smiled, scratching Follow’s ears absently. “But he’s also strangely attached to Spence. It’s an odd, interspecies, bromance sorta deal.”

Hotch laughed loudly at that, then calmed himself and went down on one knee in front of Follow. The dog’s ears perked up and his tail swished cautiously along the paving stones. Hotch held out his knuckles and waited.

“I can only hope I’m as worthy,” he rumbled quietly as Follow decided. Then his knuckles received a quick lick of approval and Follow nudged Hotch’s fingers up towards his ears.

“A scruff scratch will seal the deal,” Spencer offered.

“Good to know.” Hotch’s fingers went to work.

“It’s pretty much a pantomime,” Emily assured. “Follow’s not much of a fighter.”

“Except that one time he saved your life,” Spencer glared at her, as if offended at her memory lapse on Follow’s behalf.

“Oh, really?” Hotch rose to his feet slowly. Emily waved it off.

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.”

“Hmmmm.” He took Emily’s bag from her hand. “Well, come in, come in. You’ll want to get settled. You caught me cooking, but I’m almost done.”

“He _cooks_ too,” Emily mumbled as she stepped into his foyer. The front room was bright and airy, with a relaxed look, so different from what she expected. Follow zoomed ahead of them, claws clicking across the floors as he explored. “If you tell me you make your own wine, I think I want you to be my wife…”

“Does beer count?”

Laughter followed her – robustly from Hotch and awkwardly from Spencer. When she turned back to face them, Spencer rummaged in his satchel and pulled out a thick book, slapping it gently to Hotch’s chest.

“Here. I found a textbook about tropical fruit trees for you. There’s grafting techniques and pest control advice in there. Even a whole chapter on parasitic caterpillar species. You’ll love it.”

Hotch made a delighted noise deep in his chest as he flicked through the book quickly, eyes sparkling. “Wonderful…” he murmured.

_Yep, he’s fucking weird. No question. I totally missed this somehow._

“So,” Hotch looked up at them after a quick perusal of his gift. “You’ll probably want to put your things down, have a drink. Just finished a batch of pilsner I’m eager to sample, if you’re interested.” 

He eyed Spencer, then Emily. “I have two rooms made up, unless…”

His eyebrows rose fractionally, and he waited. Spencer began blinking too fast as his cheeks pinked up. Emily smiled.

“If that’s your way of asking if we’re knocking boots or not, Hotch, the answer is a big ol’ yes.”

Hotch grinned, not the least embarrassed. Spencer’s face went from pink to red, he rolled his eyes and huffed an exasperated, “Emily…” in her direction. It was delicious.

“Well then,” Hotch continued softly, handing Emily’s bag to a mortified Spencer. “You can take Spence’s old room. He knows the way.”

As Spencer shooed Emily down the hall with their bags, she thought she heard Hotch mumble another “wonderful” as they passed, and her grin blossomed into something ridiculous.


	24. Chapter 24

An afternoon and evening spent eating Hotch’s food and drinking his beer brought him back into focus for Emily. He wasn’t as changed as she thought; he still exuded a calm steadiness, radiating outward to calm those around him in turn. She immediately felt at home in his house surrounded by a physical metaphor of the almost zen-like wall he’d erected around him while heading the BAU. As she watched him talking and laughing with Spencer, she realized he was more reactive than he had been as a unit chief, but that was something that made sense to her. She’d had to distance herself a little while being the boss as well. She’d tried, at any rate. He was more giving now, more relaxed, but the basic elements remained in place. What really surprised her was that she’d forgotten how much his quiet leadership looked like love. He’d gone to the wall for all of them repeatedly over the years, and she knew from working with other agencies that wasn’t the norm. Loyalty, yes, but a willingness to risk everything for your people? No. Somehow, she’d edited that out of her memories of him. But it was front and center again, here, knowing that he’d given Spencer shelter when he needed it, and welcoming his ‘family’ back easily, even after years of silence.

Emily followed Hotch into the kitchen when they eventually cleared the table, helping him clean and organize in spite of his protests. She was stacking the dishwasher as he packed away leftovers, a small, contented curl to his mouth as he worked.

“Thanks for letting us stay,” she said, and he turned to look at her, smiling. “This is a great end to my trip out west.”

“You never need an invitation, Emily,” he said quietly and left it at that.

She spent a moment thinking, loading a large pot into the lower rack of the dishwasher as she considered things.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” she murmured. Hotch glanced back at her from the open fridge questioningly. “I mean, we haven’t talked in years, you and I. And I was sitting at your table just now thinking, ‘man, I’ve missed this’…”

Hotch closed the fridge and shrugged slightly, as if it wasn’t as big a deal as she thought. “I spent a year and a half in protective custody. By the time I got out, life had moved on and I was a thousand miles away from you all. And you were helming the ship – I didn’t want to interfere with that.”

“Still. You were always more than just the boss. You know that, Aaron.” She let that sit between them for a careful moment. “I shoulda reached out. We all missed you, no matter how busy our lives were.”

He just nodded in acknowledgment, looking a little uncomfortable that she’d put it into words.

“ _I_ missed you,” she continued. “And I’m hoping we can… I dunno… be friends now? Wow, that sounds so weird out loud…”

Hotch chuckled and then crossed the kitchen to stand before her, one hand reaching out to hold her arm lightly.

“Of course, Emily. I’d like that as well. Weird or not.”

She smiled and pulled him in for a hug despite the weirdness. “I like this ‘Hugging Hotch’. It’s blowing my mind a little, but it’s also nice.”

He laughed, rocking them both as it happened. “I’m honored. Spencer told me you didn’t keep up with many from the unit after you left. I’m glad I’m finally making the cut.”

“I’m not sure how much of that was a conscious choice,” she mumbled as she pulled away. “Making clean breaks when moving on is something I learned from Mother.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Do you consider your Bureau exit a clean break?”

She knew what he was implying. Her presence there with Spencer, their luggage side-by-side next to a double bed down the hall was all the evidence needed to call her out as a liar. But she swerved away from the statement.

“And yours? Are you happy with how it ended?”

Hotch sighed and leaned against the countertop. “Truthfully, no. But it’s not always our choice to make. Dave never gave up, but we’d been friends for a decade before we worked together. He’s impossible to shake.”

Emily smirked, understanding that completely.

“I guess that’s why I was so happy when Spencer appeared on my doorstep five years ago. I was relieved he still felt he could come to me, even with years and distance between us. Letting him stay was selfish really: I was grasping at the chance to mend our friendship. It was for me as much as for him, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. He brought something to life in me that had been sleeping for a while. It’s hard to explain… maybe it was optimism.”

Something flared brightly within her when he said that. It was like the hope she felt about taking Spencer to that diner in Manhattan last fall. Emily nodded and then watched Hotch carefully for a moment.

“You certainly gave him something. I’m not sure what it was, but it’s obvious he values it to this day. Thank you for being there for him when the rest of us weren’t.” Her gut twisted a little as she said it, but she wasn’t in denial enough to erase the fact that she’d abandoned him. “You know, he worries about you being alone out here. He’s concerned you’ll become a hermit.”

Hotch laughed loudly, wrinkles erupting across his tanned face in joy. “Well, that’s the pot calling the kettle black…”

Emily laughed too, and then allowed it to fade. “But really… do you have anyone?”

Hotch gave her a vintage scowl that had the unintended effect of making her smile at him. “Are you really asking me about my sex life?”

“No,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “But even Dave managed to pull it together enough to try marriage again. And you’re much less of a mess than he is.”

Hotch smirked and then sighed deeply. “I dunno. Ten years as an attorney, and then twenty-five years as an FBI agent… I’ve become a wary man. That makes casual dating difficult. Jack calls it something else.”

Emily raised her eyebrows.

“He says I’m just a prickly bastard.”

“I think ‘prickly’ is a bit harsh.”

“But the ‘bastard’ part is okay?” He grinned at her and then shrugged. “After Haley died, I told myself I was grieving, that I had to put Jack’s interests ahead of my own. But now that those excuses no longer hold water… I think I’m just scared to try again.”

She reached out for his hand and squeezed it without thinking. “Aaron…” she murmured. “C’mon.”

He squeezed her fingers back and flashed a sad smile. “Jack’s not completely wrong. I find it difficult to trust people. There’s not much to offer someone without trust.” He watched her for a moment. “You and Spencer are lucky – you already have years of trust built between you.”

Emily sighed and swung their linked hands a little. “I know I’m here on approval.” She glanced up at him. “So?”

“You don’t need my approval,” Hotch smirked. “I’m not your boss anymore, and I’m not your father.”

“So, when Spencer corners you at some point over the next few days and asks what you think, what are you gonna tell him?”

“I’ll just ask him if he’s happy,” Hotch sighed, then he shuffled a step closer to her. “Are _you_ happy, Emily?”

She blinked, trying to find a simple answer for his deceptively simple question. “Yes. I mean, knowing him has always made me happy, ya know? But now it’s intensified beyond belief.” She paused for a second, considering. “But it’s also not just one thing. I’m happy, but I’m also scared of it. I feel like… I could lose it so easily.”

Hotch just stared at her, nodding ever so slightly, but offering nothing in return. _Well, I guess some things about us never change…_ She waited, watching him as intensely as he was watching her. Eventually, she shook her head and raised her hands in an unspoken, _so what have you got for me?_ He just turned away.

“Would you like some coffee? I’m sure Spencer wouldn’t object… Why don’t you ask him?”

Hotch began fussing with the coffee machine, not waiting on her response. She looked at his back a moment longer and then turned and left the kitchen, unsure if she’d just been silently judged or if he simply had nothing to offer her. She found both options disheartening.


	25. Chapter 25

The days at Hotch’s place were spent lounging in the winter sunlight, eating and drinking too much, and exploring San Jose with an overly-energetic Follow. The nights were spent in a sort of warm, curled numbness with Spencer, both of them actively ignoring her departure date while they snuggled under the covers in Hotch’s guest room and tried to keep their shenanigans subdued. Emily would watch Spencer nap with Follow in a chaise lounge, a physics periodical draped over them both. Or she’d witness Hotch whispering to his flowerbeds and mock him for being in an emotional relationship with his front yard. 

He grinned as he looked back at her over his shoulder, his fingers black with soil. “What about the back yard?”

“That’s even worse,” she teased. “It’s the affair you’re hiding from the world. All of that pruning, and tying back, and sticky, ripening fruit… _so_ sordid.”

“You have the imagination of a hormonal teenager, Prentiss,” he laughed before going back to cooing to his azaleas. 

It was all too delightful and carefree. She denied her worries for a few days, sinking down into the simple enjoyment of her friends without being critical, but that didn’t last. It wasn’t who she was to not think about what was to come. And though Spencer had promised to discuss their future, he’d avoided bringing it up again, so it fell to her to raise it once more.

And that terrified her.

But she screwed up her courage the day before New Year’s and decided, _today’s the day_. No matter what was said, she’d get clarity one way or another – he wouldn’t put her off again. She waited until after dinner, when Hotch retired to his study for a little alone time and Spencer had drifted out into the back yard, staring up at the night sky with a glass of wine forgotten in his hand. She watched him in the shadows of the fruit trees for a long time, soaking up the muted outline of him and trying to calm her racing heart.

_Jesus, I’m absolutely petrified by how much I love him…_

She cleared her throat and he turned in the dark. Walking into the shadows of the garden, she was glad of the camouflage they provided.

“Hey,” she said softly.

“Hi.” She could hear the smile in his voice even if she couldn’t see it. “You caught me dreaming.”

“What were you dreaming about?”

His silhouette shrugged. “Oh, you know, space, time, the universe… all of the big questions, really.”

She wondered if she qualified as one of the “big questions”, if she rated that much of his consideration or not. She shoved the thought aside and decided it was better to ask than to guess anymore. 

“Oh, well… I hate to bring the room down to a more mundane level but, I think… I want to talk about what happens next.”

“What happens next?” he asked

“C’mon, Spence, you know what I mean.”

“We don’t have to discuss this tonight. We have time left.” 

“I know you don’t want to talk about this, but… I’m leaving in three days. We kinda have to,” she said, suddenly irritated.

His head rose, still obscured in the long shadows of the yard so she couldn’t make out his details.

“Em-”

“I’ve looked into possibilities with Pendleton, and… well, there aren’t any, really. Their southern headquarters is in Atlanta, which doesn’t help us. The west coast offices are satellites – I can’t run the North American operation from them.”

“Emily,” he sighed and stepped towards her, abandoning his wine glass on the edge of a raised planter.

“I’ve put some feelers out for similar positions with other investment companies…”

He froze in mid-step, his silhouette getting sharp. “You have?”

“Sure,” Emily shrugged. His surprise surprised her. “But there aren’t a lot of west coast-based companies. Most are start-ups from Silicon Valley with limited histories and a decidedly millennial flavor. Basically, I’m too old to appeal to them, or they to me.”

He hesitated a moment, seeming unsure of what he should say. “You’re not old…”

She waved him off. “It doesn’t matter. The bottom line is that I can’t rearrange my current job to suit us, and a position with another firm is unlikely to work in our favor. So, that leaves one alternative: I just quit.”

Spencer shook his head, once, roughly in the dark. “What? No. That’s… no, Emily.”

“Why not?” She stepped forward across the cool, nighttime grass. “I have plenty of money put away. It would be sorta like an early retirement. Isn’t that everyone’s dream? All I’d have to do is sell off the condo and-”

“No,” Spencer said quietly and firmly. It felt like he’d verbally slammed a door on her.

“No? What do you mean ‘no’?”

“I mean, you quitting your job just to move out here isn’t an option.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s…” His voice cut out on him abruptly, and then he shook his head as if he were frustrated. “It’s a waste. And totally unnecessary.”

“It’s _not_ unnecessary, Spencer,” she growled as she took another step forward. “I don’t know about you, but being with the person I love is pretty damned necessary for me.”

That was the closest she could come to admitting her unsettling need for him. Couldn’t he tell already?

“Jesus, Em, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Well, what did you mean then? Because I just offered to quit my lucrative job in order to come out here and live with you, and your response was to call it ‘a waste’. I mean, wasn’t that what this holiday was about? To see how we’d be together, day in and day out? I think we are great. I mean, we’re moving quickly now, but… we seem sorta scarily compatible. I was starting to wonder how I’d revert back almost as soon as I got here…”

Her voice dropped off suddenly. He stood in the shadows, impossible to read though he was only six feet from her. He didn’t say anything, didn’t move, and in her head, the shoe she’d been waiting on finally dropped.

_He doesn’t want you to come. He doesn’t feel the same way. Whatever this is, he doesn’t want to mix his life with yours. Why else would he have avoided this conversation so consistently?_

“Shit,” she murmured to herself, actively ignoring how wet the syllable sounded. “I just got it…”

His shadow stood straighter. “Just got what?”

“You don’t want me to move here at all.”

He stomped across the grass quickly, suddenly taking on light and detail as he got close enough to grab her arm. “I never said that.”

“But you’re not asking me to stay either.” She pulled her hand from his, staring at his inscrutable expression. “Whatever test this was, I’ve failed it. And I don’t even know how, or when…”

He grabbed her again, this time with a hand on either arm, fingers digging into her as he shook her gently. “Stop it. This is ridiculous catastrophizing. You haven’t failed anything. I just don’t want you to make a unilateral decision about moving to the west coast at the cost of your career, Emily. You’d _hate_ having nothing to do, and you’d end up hating me for it in the end. I’m being selfish, yes, but only because I never want you to hate me for any reason.”

She considered that for a moment and he almost had her convinced. She _would_ hate being useless…

“It’s only been a few weeks together, Em,” he continued. “Really _together_. Not over the phone, or in brief interludes between our lives. We don’t have to decide right now – when we don’t even know what we want yet.”

That brought her crashing back into the moment. She stared at him, his expression reassuring and soft, like he was saying the most reasonable thing in the world. She backed away from him and broke their connection, feeling numb all over. Inside, she retreated to the familiar place that protected her many times in the past when whatever she wanted let her down somehow. She should’ve known…

“I know what I want,” she said quietly. “You said you did too. Right from the start. You got impatient with _me_ because I was afraid to commit to it, remember?”

His gaze got wide as her words set in, when he realized where she was going. His mouth dropped open, though nothing came out.

“But now I’m on board with it, you’ve changed your mind.” A sad smirk twisted her lips. She felt it burn into her as her pulse buzzed and her guts soured. _Fuck. You’re such an idiot. AGAIN. You’ll never learn, Emily…_

“I haven’t-” he blurted.

“We’re having fun, and the sex is great, but… whatever you imagined it would be, it isn’t. You don’t want the responsibility of me uprooting my life for this, but you don’t want it to be over yet either. Am I getting warm?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Emily! _No!_ You’re not even close. You’re the _only_ responsibility I want to have!”

“Just so long as there’s a continent between us,” she spat back. His face went red in the dim light.

“You really are determined to be unhappy, aren’t you?” he hissed. “So eager to paint me with a misogynistic brush. Imagining that I only want to fuck you despite _years_ of evidence to the contrary.”

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and huffed loudly. Behind them she heard Follow make a muted whine from the house.

“All those men you took to your bed, all of them wrong for you…” he continued, using the brutal sharpness he’d picked up in prison. “But you made me watch it happen anyway. Do you know what it felt like to witness that? It was like you’d slapped me across the face each time you did it.” He stepped closer, lifting his chin defiantly. “Why would I put up with any of that just for the faint hope of getting laid? Why do you think I hate myself that much? Why do you imagine I think so little of you?”

“But you don’t want me here! I’m willing to make the sacrifice this time, and you’re standing there telling me you _don’t want it!_ ” She was yelling now, feeling cornered and defensive. Follow barked from behind the glass patio door. Hotch would hear them. He’d come out and get all messed up in this as well.

“I don’t want pointless sacrifice, Em! I don’t want one of us miserable while the other gets to be selfish. How would that be any different from the last twenty years?”

“Are you calling me selfish now for all the years we wasted?” she snapped, making him growl openly at her. 

“We have to find a way that works for both of us. I won’t settle for less than that.”

“And how the hell do we get that? How do we get something that ‘works’ for us without someone sacrificing? C’mon, Spencer, quit being naïve about this!” She glared at him and threw down the gauntlet. “I’m willing to do this. I’m offering it to you. Are you telling me that you _won’t_ accept it?”

His eyebrows lowered and his jaw set stonily, knowing that she’d worked him into a corner from which he couldn’t escape without harming one of them. He pinched his lips into a firm, white line and crossed his arms.

“I will not accept that.” He annunciated each word crisply.

A part of her knew this would be his answer. She understood that her ultimatum was unfair, especially in light of the argument he’d made. It was impossible for him to turn around and agree to it now. And she also knew _him_ , his stubbornness and his unwillingness to make anyone he loved unhappy. But the rational part of her was small in that moment. The rest of her felt as if he’d tossed her away, right there amongst Hotch’s roses and fruit trees. Just another overripe thing destined to fade and fall away.

She stepped back, once and then again, staring in disbelief. _It only took a few weeks for it to go wrong. This thing that felt so perfect. Now, so perfectly wrong…_ Her mouth fell open, yet she couldn’t coax out anything but a hiccupped breath, as if it were her last pain-free one. His storm clouds lifted slightly at the sound, and he reached for her again.

“Em…”

“No,” she murmured and pulled herself clear of his grasp. “You want something that can’t happen. And _you know_ it can’t happen. It’s the same thing as saying you don’t want this.”

“I have a plan, Em, please,” he said desperately, as she turned back to the house. “Just… believe in me…”

She waved him off, not caring if he followed her, which he didn’t. She left him in the garden, in the dark, behind her where he always should have been. She’d let herself fall into his story again instead of forging her own – it had been deceptively easy to tumble into it once more. She never knew she was so weak, that she was under his spell _this much_. Her vision blurred as she let herself inside and brushed passed a worried Follow who had smudged the sliding glass door with nose-marks at their altercation.

“C’mon, bud,” she choked. “Need a walk.”

Follow wagged his tail once then looked over his shoulder at the back door.

“He’s not coming,” she bit out.

Follow’s head drooped a little. Then he turned back to her and trailed after her into the streets of San Jose.


	26. Chapter 26

They walked until her calves ached and Follow whimpered to get her attention and then sat down in the street – a wordless, _enough is enough_.

“Are you serious?” she asked him, irked that she was tired but still internally roiling at her fight with Spencer. Follow huffed loudly and refused to move, then he looked over his shoulder from the way they came.

“You must be getting old. This is a lightweight complaint if even I heard one, bud.”

Follow growled gently, and then got up and started walking back down the street.

“Fucking mutiny,” she grumbled and watched him lope away. Then she shook her head and followed him. 

It took them an hour to get back to Hotch’s place, and it was well after midnight when they walked the path leading to the front door. Her heart was racing and her stomach twisted when she thought, _just beyond that door… he’s just beyond that door but he’s far away_. She pulled up on the path, angry indiscriminately, and pissed that, heartbreak or not, this situation wasn’t even close to done yet. There was probably a handful of arguments left to be had, an awkward goodbye and then recriminations in isolation, stupid phone calls and texts to be withstood that gave neither closure nor hope, lonely nights and punishing days spent denying reality… it was all stretching out before her and she hated every inch of it. She hated Spencer for gifting it to her.

“Stupid motherfucker, how dare you,” she cursed loudly, making Follow turn to look at her, ears pinned back.

“Language,” someone chastised from the darkness of the garden.

Emily jumped and made an embarrassing noise. Follow growled, tail stiff and bristled.

“Some of us are gardening here.”

“Hotch?” Emily squinted and saw movement along one of the long rows of his vegetable patch. He was hunched down, a pail between his knees, inspecting a tomato plant. He didn’t glance up at her.

“Do you know why I talk to them?” he asked softly, curling a vine back along a brace holding it away from the ground. “Because they listen. They respond to you. Their sympathetic relationship with their environment is that sensitive. So, keep the swearing to a minimum please. This season’s tomato sauce is on the line here.”

Emily sighed. “Are you seriously accusing me of psychologically abusing your vegetables?”

Hotch shrugged and placed a ripe zucchini in his pail. “You never can be too careful.”

Emily walked down the row halfway, Follow padding softly behind her. “Why are you gardening at night?”

“It’s the best time for it. The bugs are down and there’s no chance of sun stroke. Honestly, in gardening terms, the nightlife’s where it’s at.”

Emily smirked at his lunacy, even as she felt bruised all over. Then Hotch glanced at her.

“Have a good walk?”

Her spine stiffened, and she stayed silent. 

“I heard you,” he said quietly as he got to his feet.

“Yeah, I figured you would,” she huffed, too tired to feel embarrassed by it. She waited for him to make a pronouncement, a lot like she had when he was her boss. But he just shuffled up the garden row slowly instead.

“You have an opinion,” she prompted.

“Of course, I do,” he said mildly, checking a trellis for stability as he passed it. “Opinions are less than worthless in relationships, especially an outside opinion.”

“Still… now’s your chance. You haven’t said anything about us since we got here. Not really.” 

She waited. Spencer had lived with Hotch. They understood each other. They were friends. Hotch glanced up at her, eyes glinting in the faint light. He sighed when he saw the obstinance she assumed was written all over her. Follow sat down in the dirt at her feet, settling in.

“I don’t know much about love, Emily,” Hotch intoned softly, resting his pail on a cocked hip. “I was never any good at it myself. But you don’t need to know a lot to see how deeply Spencer loves you.”

Emily felt her breath leave her, replaced by nothing but silence and a pervasive ache in her chest.

“When he came here, right after he resigned, I almost didn’t recognize him. The deceptively young profiler I’d always known seemed old and worn to me. Defeated. It broke my heart a little, truth be told.”

Hotch shifted uncomfortably, and Emily tried to imagine what a defeated Spencer Reid looked like based on Hotch’s perception alone. The image she conjured was alarming and made her shift uncomfortably as well.

“The first thing I asked him was what was he running from, and he denied that, as I expected. Then, I asked him if he was running from you.”

“Me?” Emily whispered. Hotch nodded once, slowly.

“He’s loved you for years, Emily. How could you have not seen it?”

“I… I don’t… It was never clear to me. It was… always more of a suggestion… I dunno. Jesus, did everyone _know?_ ”

“Emily,” he chided gently. She imagined he was giving her a scowl. She shook off his judgment for a moment.

“No. I’m not stupid. But he chose Austin, Maeve… He chose J.J. He never chose me.”

“You chose others as well,” Hotch countered. “But you always came back to each other.”

“That just means we formed a habit,” she grumbled.

“It means you are each other’s touchstone.”

The sentence rang through Emily, startling and hot like she’d been shot. It set her shivering in the late evening breeze. Follow felt her at his side and whined softly, huddling closer to lend her his warmth.

“He denied that too when I asked the question,” Hotch carried on after a moment of pointed silence. “But that was the reason; I was as sure of that as anything. It was the haunted look in his eyes when he told me ‘no’. We never spoke of it again while he lived here. He never asked for help, and I didn’t feel I had anything to offer him on that topic. Just as I have no advice for you now, Emily.”

Hotch took a breath and let it out slowly. Emily dropped her gaze to her feet, air coming in odd gulps she had to make through her mouth. She reached for Follow blindly and felt his tongue across her palm, grounding her for an instant.

“All these years…” she whispered unsteadily. “You knew?”

“What was to know?” Hotch sighed. “No, Emily. I thought your closeness was unique – I kept an eye on it, just in case. But I thought Spencer was in it alone. In over his head. Honestly, I felt sorry for him.”

“Shit,” she gusted, watching that realization condense into the cool, winter air. She’d been great at hiding herself. What a terrible thing to do to someone you cared about.

“If he’s denying something from you, it’s not from lack of love. That’s all I’m certain of.” Hotch paused meaningfully. “It is quite possible he’s withholding something vital that is exacerbating the situation. We both know he’s prone to that. Perhaps he’s getting in his own way.”

Emily nodded numbly, not really seeing how this information helped.

“I’ve never seen a man faithfully love in vain that way he has. It’s almost Sisyphean. Quite touching if it weren’t also quite tragic. Maybe you two won’t make it, but don’t walk away because you think he’s emotionally indifferent to you. He’ll go to his grave thinking you make the sun rise and set.”

Emily’s eyes shot to Hotch. He was frowning grimly, gaze oddly tired and upset. One thing was certain: leaving the FBI had made Hotch more human. Had it done the same for her as well? Or would she keep living her life under the gun? If she did, Spencer wouldn’t stick around for that. He’d already made his peace with the past and didn’t want to spend any more time on it. Emily wished that this nurturing, insightful version of Hotch had existed when they worked together. She would’ve been desperate to please him, to protect him – much more so than the stoic leader she’d come to respect.

“I… I don’t know what to do.” Her cheeks flamed as she admitted her failure.

“I think you do,” he countered quietly. “I think you know exactly what you’re afraid of.”

“What’s that?”

He smiled knowingly. It was strange – full of memory. “You’re afraid of getting it wrong. You’re afraid of it being average. Right now, it’s everything, and you’re terrified that you’ll do something, say something that changes it to something less. So, you’re finding an excuse to protect yourself and push him away.”

He let that hang between them in a moment of silence. Honestly, the insight wasn’t a surprise to her. She’d even warned Spencer that she might sabotage things this way.

“If it ends now – while nearly perfect – it’ll remain that way forever. There’s something comforting in that, isn’t there?” Hotch arched an eyebrow at her. “If you frame the break-up as his fault, it’s more perfect still. You can polish the memory of it and imagine ‘what if’ your whole life, and rest the blame for your unhappiness at his feet instead of where it really belongs.”

“Where does it belong?” she whispered.

Hotch shrugged. “Who knows? Everyone is their own private puzzle. But we are our own fault. It isn’t fair to blame someone else. The only thing I’m sure of is that love is never perfect. Or maybe it’s only perfect for a short while. Every couple thinks they will last forever; everyone imagines they only fit with one other. But an aggregation of small disappointments and compromises makes love a lot more real than most of us can handle. Then you become like me and Haley, or Will and J.J.”

Emily thought about that. Once, long ago, she’d been jealous of what J.J. and Will had. They seemed made for each other; a beautiful, quiet understanding between two people which blossomed into a beautiful family. It was impossible to imagine J.J. considering an affair with anyone else.

“You and Spencer have been alone your whole adult lives. You’ve never lived with anyone outside of your family – you’ve never had to let someone in, to lay bare your failings as well as your strengths. You’re both territorial and deeply private. I can only imagine how terrified you are of disappointing him, as he is of you, I’m sure.”

Emily sucked in a wet, hiccupped gasp. “But… I’m such a mess, Aaron…”

He stepped toward her, free hand reaching out and cupping her elbow as he stooped to meet her eyes. “We’re all a mess, Emily. Everyone. What you have with him now – what you’re trying so desperately to protect – isn’t real. The only way to make it last is to give him your mess. Take it from a guy who knows: trying to live in a perfect fiction is exhausting. You’ll end up hating each other for it.”

“Oh fuck,” she muttered wetly, and then she felt Hotch’s arm wrap around her shoulders, pulling her against his solidness while Follow snuffled questioningly between their legs. “What am I going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Hotch swayed them slightly, hitching the pail on his hip a little. “But if you’ve emotionally bruised my vegetables, I’ll have to insist that you move to the Marriott.”

She chuckled and sniffled against him. His chest vibrated against her cheek as he chuckled back. “You’ve become unrepentantly weird in retirement, Aaron. I wish you were more like this when we worked together. I like this guy.”

“Hmmm. Sometimes I wish for that too.”

She waited a beat, until their amusement faded. “How have we remained so hidden from each other for so long?”

“I don’t have an answer for that either,” he sighed. “I can only content myself with believing we can change it. If we choose to.”

He leaned away a little until she looked up at him. There was no mask in place, no screen for his emotions, just genuine concern.

“I love you, Emily, and you’re welcome here anytime you want to frighten my vegetables and drink my beer. But I’m not the man you need to tell your secrets to.” He squeezed her shoulders once, and then gently pushed her away. “Just talk to him.”

She blinked rapidly, making the image of him stutter. Then she leaned back in and left a wet kiss on his cheek. “You have plenty of advice after all, you fucking rad, midnight-gardening weirdo.”

He arched an eyebrow and flashed a scowl at her that warmed her with its nostalgia. “You’re stalling, Prentiss. Get going.”

“Yes, sir.”

She left him to his strange, botanical magic and drifted through the darkened house, Follow clicking quietly behind her. The living room was lit but empty, the other main rooms silent and dim. He wasn’t in the back yard either. That left the bedroom. 

Emily let herself in and saw his silhouette hunched into a ball on the furthest edge of the bed, and her heart throbbed painfully. Even the outline of him looked miserable, turned away from the door and facing the window. She hushed for Follow to stay at the foot of the bed, which he did with a reluctant whimper, then she called out his name. He didn’t move or respond, so she padded around until she could face him. He wasn’t asleep, but he refused to look at her, his hands curled under his cheek against the pillow. His eyes were red – it was obvious even in the weak light from the window – and his face seemed puffy. _Fuck._ Her gut dropped, and then she did too, falling to her knees on the floor next to the bed while his eyebrows creased in confusion. She curled her legs beneath her and watched him quietly for a long moment, spine slouching under the weight of her fragility.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and it came out wrecked. He tensed up, looking concerned rather than resentful, and his body lost some of its miserable contraction. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”

He blinked, and his mouth went lax as he breathed through it softly. But he waited for more.

“I told you I’d screw this up.”

“You shouldn’t use that as permission to do so,” he murmured back.

“I know,” she nodded and sniffled.

“It really hurts to hear you say that you don’t think I love you enough.”

“I don’t really think that,” she whimpered and shook her head to keep the tears at bay. “I’m just scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“That one day you’ll see how wrong I am for you. You’ll realize how shitty I’ve been to you over the years, and that I’m not worth all the effort you’ve put into maintaining this friendship or loving the version of me that lives in your head.” 

She gulped hard, thickness cutting her voice off abruptly. Then she sat a little straighter and just got on with it. 

“And that would be devastating because now I want this so much I can’t imagine anything else. But I’m gonna let you down, Spence – it’s _gonna_ happen. We can’t stay like this forever – fucking and adoring like we’re on an endless holiday.”

She stopped and took a breath, realizing that in stating it that way, she’d effectively ended that beautiful fantasy between them.

“The only way to make it last is to _really see_ one another,” she continued softly. “So, I pushed, because part of me wants it all, and part of me wants to push you away before you have a chance to be disappointed in me. And it would suit my internal narrative nicely if you turned out to be the jerk giving up on me first, so that I could feel righteous in my solitude, like none of this was my fault even though that’s a big, obvious lie.”

Spencer blinked rapidly. “Ummm… wow.”

“Yeah,” she sighed and collapsed in on herself a little. “Then you did exactly what I thought you would: you refused to let me come to you. It fed into my self-destructive story perfectly, but it also crushed me at the same time, like there was no air left in my life. I mean, I engineered that scenario, but all I heard was your rejection and it was just…” 

She shook all over, terribly, for an instant. When she reopened her eyes, he was staring at her in shock. 

“It was easier to feel angry. To think, _‘him too – he’s just like all the rest’_.”

She dropped her head into her hands.

“I’m a pretty bag of broken glass, Spencer. Christ, for the life of me, I can’t figure out what you’ve found so attractive over the years…”

Fingers wrapped around her wrists and pulled her hands away from her face. When she looked up, he was half-leaning away from the mattress, confused and frustrated.

“Just… just hold on a minute, Em. I need a moment to unpack all of that,” he warned, and released her wrists as he laid back down still staring at her.

She nodded and did her best to choke back some of the hysteria, and she watched him in silence as they both tried to figure out their next move alone, inside their heads.

“I guess, my first response is that I _hate_ that you continue to believe that I don’t really see you, Emily,” he said quietly but firmly, anger dissipating the confusion. “How is this thought so persistent for you? You’re not perfect – I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know that about you. I just don’t fucking care about it.”

She twitched as he swore, and then saw he absolutely meant it when he hammered it home with a glare.

“I wish you didn’t care about it so much,” he added. “It makes me very worried about all the ways I’ll let you down as a result.”

“Let _me_ down?” she croaked. He rolled his eyes at her.

“Yeah, Em. I want you to keep believing that I’m brilliant and special, and that the things I say and do are always amazing. I don’t want you to see how hard I work at it. I don’t want you to know that I fret about how things will land with you, so I chew them over and endlessly revise them in my head first. Even after I’ve said stuff, I replay it and worry that it could’ve gone better.”

“But…” Her brain glitched on her. “You’ll still be brilliant and special and amazing even if you get things wrong. You’re a genius, Spence. You work in ways that will always seem incredible to me.”

His cheeks colored in the dim light.

“And, honestly, how often would I be able to tell if you got stuff wrong?” she added. “Sometimes I can barely follow you when I know you’re dumbing things down for me.”

“I don’t dumb things down,” he mumbled.

“You do.”

“I _don’t._ ”

“Whatever,” she huffed. Another dangerous silence washed over them in the gloom.

“You know, I hate that you make me hate things,” he broke the quiet and waited for her eyes to meet his again. “Then I have to remind myself that, no, I actually love that about you.”

She blinked. “You’ll have to explain that one.”

“Hating is like loving: it’s intensive, incendiary. It tells you you’re alive, for better or worse. _You_ show me I’m alive, Em, whether I’m loving or hating the experience.”

She ducked her gaze away from him, hiding behind a cascade of hair.

“I love you so much,” he said with a halting softness that made her want to lean towards his voice. “And I _do_ want to live with you. God, that would make me so happy…”

Emily’s head shot up and her neck complained. “Well then… why?”

Spencer held up his hand to stop her, then laid it out across the mattress again. “I have a plan. There will be a time for us to make this choice, but it isn’t now.”

She shook her head in frustration. “Fine… you know what? FINE. So, tell me the plan then.”

“I can’t.”

“Oh, you absolutely damn-well _can_ , Spencer,” she growled, just DONE with his obfuscation. 

“No, Em, I can’t.” He looked at her awkwardly. “Remember what you said in Savannah? About how planning is a starting point, but life is how it all works out? Well, I’m trying hard, Emily, but what if all my efforts go sideways on me? I need you to believe in me – I… I need it more than affection or sex.”

His eyes flicked away, and he curled tighter on the bed. Like a bomb detonating in her, she realized that he was taking a risk and exposing himself. _Oh, Spencer, show me your mess…_

“I know we have to be more honest with each other about our fears and failings if we’re gonna make this last,” he continued. “But please don’t make me give this up just yet. I’m not ready for you to consider that I can’t pull this off.”

Emily leaned forward until she could curl his hand into hers on the bed. His fingers wiggled, and she linked them after a moment, as he peered back at her.

“Okay, Spence,” she gave in, squeezing his hand. “But I want you to know that remaining in the dark about this isn’t easy for me. I trust you a helluva lot. I hope you can see that now.”

“I can,” he whispered, eyes wide as he stared. “Thank you.”

His thumb circled over her skin as they sat and watched each other in the quiet. Follow snuffled into the blankets, and the house creaked as the night air caused it to contract after the day’s warmth. Emily looked at him and wondered what it would take for her to become indifferent to him. How far would he have to fall before she became like J.J. and considered betraying her love. She, honestly, couldn’t picture it. Short of him having a personality replacement, or becoming a serial killer, she couldn’t imagine not loving him, even a little. Did he feel the same way? Is that how he could dismiss her imperfections so easily?

“Come to bed,” he whispered eventually. “Please.”

She rose from the floor with a hiss and a crack of her knees. Then she crawled over him and lay down fully clothed. He rolled to face her, away from the window, his details falling into shadow again. But his hands reached for her, and she let him pull her close, eager for his warmth and gangly arms around her. His hands splayed along her back, his legs curling through hers, and he just _breathed_ , like lying there on top of the blankets in their street clothes was all he could ever want.

Her hands rose eventually, fingers blindly tracing the lines of his face, his neck, his shoulders and arms. Then back again, over and over. She drew shapes on him: curves along his throat, triangles down the line of his cheekbones, ellipses under the shadowed parts of his eyes. She remembered they were rimmed in red, so she lingered.

“I’m sorry if… I made you cry tonight,” she whispered hesitantly, fingers still warming his skin. “Or if I made you think about crying. Guys don’t admit to that kinda stuff, do they?”

“I cried,” he murmured. “I thought we were over.”

“Spence,” she nuzzled against his jaw, hating herself. “I’m a jerk…”

“We’re going to hurt each other, Em. Maybe not on purpose, and maybe not because we really want to, but it will happen if we take this out of our heads and into the real world. I guess we have to accept that.”

“If?” Emily held her breath and her fingers stilled. Spencer sighed against her.

“I need to tell you what I’m thinking, even if it’s stupid or causes you to doubt me,” he declared. It was a quiet challenge.

“I need to believe that you see me as I am, and that you’ve forgiven me for my stupid shit in the past.” She started shaking as she said it, and his arms tightened around her.

“I do, and I have,” he brushed against her mouth urgently.

“I need you,” she nipped back, cupping his jaw and leading him closer. “You’re my bedrock. It’s got nothing to do with belief, genius.”

His mouth closed over hers, sealing off her “I love you” before she could finish it. Then he moved breathlessly, taking her lips and slipping free, then capturing them again. It was soft and endless, like a conversation made of only air and touch, like they were intimately reaffirming each other, but without the recklessness of sex or a clumsy tumble of words. She just wanted to lie there, held together, warm and sure where they met, with the gentle sounds of their sighs and the slide of their lips. Her fingers skimmed through his hair and it pulled him back enough for her to see how he watched her: there was fascination there, but also trust, and a flicker of fear that warred with it all. It was shockingly honest in its confusion, and she thought, _fuck… thank you… thank you for letting me see all of that_. She’d have to do better. She’d just have to.

After what felt like hours of staring and silent revelation, they worked each other out of their clothes and quietly made love. It was perhaps the gentlest, most prosaic interlude they’d ever had, but when Emily hitched in his arms and came with a soft gasp that he mirrored a moment later, she felt as if she’d seen the sun rise for the first time. This was new: being fragile and imperfect together. It wasn’t hot, or beyond their control, but when he looked at her, pupils blown wide from his climax and struggling to catch his breath, his gaze was exactly the same as before. In fact, it seemed to Emily that the way he looked at her was an echo of how he’d always looked at her, long before they’d considered anything more than friendship. Fascination, trust, and just a little bit of fear…

She held his face in her hands and smiled. A tear rolled down her cheek and his thumb moved to brush it away. Then he smiled too, lines on his face lighting him up as they always had, and she quietly pulsed with joy. 

_He’s that kid who babbled when he was nervous… the one you thought would shoot himself before he managed to shoot a perp… he’s the guy who entertained you with silly magic tricks and was never stopped by your pessimism… he’s the man whose intellect still intimidates you… the guy who’s unexpectedly brave and forthright when it really matters… he’s the lover who makes you glad that you never settled for anyone else, but also sad that you’ll never be able to give him the family he craved… he’s the person whose opinion can destroy you, and whose love lifts you out of the self-loathing swamp you’ve spent most of your life in. You can save each other. You can support one another. You can be more as a unit than you’ll ever be as individuals. But only if you give into it. Admit that you want to be his everything. He’s already more than that to you._

“Hey,” he whispered, eyes flicking over her as his thumb rubbed her cheek. “You okay?”

“When I was with Rick, we had this argument where I told him that I never wanted to be a prop for a man’s personality. I told him… I didn’t want anyone to need me like that, where who I was became subsumed by who _he_ was.” She didn’t know why she was saying this, but Spencer watched her carefully and waited her out. “I was only ever interested in being me. I’ve worked hard to _become_ me, after all, for better or worse.”

“That sounds like you,” he said after a pause. She shifted against him, not away, but towards him.

“Yeah, it does. But now I’m in this scary place where… where I want to be a part of someone else. You.”

His eyebrows popped a little.

“And I’m terrified that this desire is a betrayal of the independent, kick-ass woman I’ve been so proud to be for so long. I mean… isn’t falling into a man, blending into his story… isn’t that weak, unfeminist shit? I’m scared of losing myself, of giving up my power… but every instinct I have pulls me to you…”

She shook her head and closed her eyes, feeling heat rush to her face. 

“I don’t understand myself, I guess. It’s a shitty realization to come to in the middle of your life. I’m sorry, Spence, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I suppose all I can do is confess what I think and feel about the mess I’ve become. Insight is probably beyond me.”

He stared at her for a long time with a sort of non-expression on his face. She stared back until it felt uncomfortable and then she wriggled until he slid to the side and shuffled down on the pillow next to her to stare some more. She’d almost reached the limit of her patience when he licked his lips and cleared his throat softly.

“Trust is everything, you know. It’s much more than love or sex can be, because those things couldn’t exist without it,” he said quietly, tucking his hands between his head and the pillow beneath it. “It’s why I want you to believe in me so much, and why the idea of losing that is terrible. What you just said may seem like mess or confusion to you. But what I heard was that you _trust_ me with all of that.” 

Emily felt her mouth fall open, but nothing came forth.

“I want to be with you, and, yeah, that desire is gonna redefine me a little as an individual. But I don’t want to give myself up to you, and I _certainly_ don’t want you to disappear into me. In my opinion, that would be the opposite of adoring you.”

He gave her a moment and waited. When nothing came from her, his cheeks flushed, he shuffled nervously, and moved on. 

“Emily, do you know what it means to be desired by someone like you that way? To see you wrestle with it and be confused by it, but _not_ give up on it?”

She shook her head mutely against the pillows.

“Listen,” he huffed gently, his cheeks going scarlet. “If we make it past tonight and want to keep going… well, one day, I’m going to ask you to marry me. Because even if you think you’re perfectly wrong for me, I only see the ‘perfect’ part of that. That’s all I’ll ever see.”

He took a deep, bracing breath while she blinked in shock.

“I don’t want you to quit your job in order to move here because I don’t want you to give up being who you are just to be with me. What you’ve achieved, who you are – I’m so proud of that and in awe that you did it on your own. I’d never want to take that from you.” He let out a long, slow breath. “And… I’m only staying here until I defend my thesis anyway.”

“You are?” She blinked some more. He nodded. “But… what about _your_ career?” she whispered. “What about Caltech? You seem happy here.”

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “I don’t know what the plan looks like beyond that. I only know the step in front of me, and where I hope to end up. It’s frustrating and upsetting. And now you know that… you see how clueless I am here. I’m just winging it like crazy and hoping you won’t notice how dumb I am.”

He turned his flaming face into the pillow and she reached out without hesitation, drawing him firmly back to her gaze.

“Nothing about that is dumb, Spence,” she shook her head.

“But… you did job searches and looked into transfer options,” he choked. “You put way more together in the same amount of time.”

“Out of desperation,” she added, shuffling closer to stare him down. “And that desperation led to the feminist crisis of conscience-panic attack thing, so…”

She rolled her free hand in the air to illustrate her ridiculous mental snowballing. His mouth flicked upwards a little, but he continued looking worried.

“And I didn’t come up with a brilliant answer either, did I?” she concluded and waited for him to acknowledge it.

“I don’t know,” he huffed. “I just want to stride forward with a solution to this. We’ve let twenty years slip by us… I just don’t want to waste any more time waiting, that’s all. And everything I consider just throws more obstacles in our way. It gets me agitated – like I’m losing daylight. I lie awake some nights and just _hate_ every avenue open to me…” His eyes flicked to hers. “I don’t want you to see how helpless I am.”

“Spence,” she shuffled until her nose bumped his and she could stroke his skin. “You’re not helpless. And even if you insist you are in this scenario, you’re not alone. We’re helpless together, because we’re both trying to solve this and then being idiots by hiding it from each other.”

She smirked and then nipped his mouth.

“I feel better,” she whispered. 

“You do?” he breathed.

She nodded. “I left this house tonight feeling rejected and alone, and now… I feel like we can handle this if we… just remember what kind of friends we’ve been over the years. The love, the desire has made us panic a little, but Agent Prentiss and Dr. Reid wouldn’t have let panic defeat them when the answer wasn’t clear. Would they?”

Her eyebrows rose hopefully, and his mouth curled in one corner.

“No,” he murmured. “They would’ve put on a pot of coffee, looked at the evidence in front of them, and ask what they’d missed.”

“And they would’ve stayed up all night until they figured it out, even if all of their best theories turned out to be wrong,” she smiled.

“Yeah,” he brushed his mouth lightly against hers. “They would’ve been stubborn as hell about finding the truth. They could always depend on each other for that.”

Emily swallowed hard, a finger drifting up to trace his shapes again. “I’m depending on you for that.”

He began to blink too fast, but then he nodded, as if sealing a pact between them. “I’m depending on you too,” he choked.

“Okay.”

She ducked her head below his chin quickly, so he couldn’t see how her vision was suddenly blurry. But pressed against him – chest to chest – it was impossible to hide how fast her heart was rocketing against her ribs. His arms tightened around her, and a sigh fluttered the hair on top of her head. She stayed awake in silence for a long time, but his embrace never loosened, and their heartbeats never really calmed down.


	27. Chapter 27

The next morning, Emily woke alone. Even Follow was gone. She looked around and the light told her it was still early. It was unusual for Spencer to get up before her.

She dressed quickly and shuffled through the quiet house, finding him in the kitchen, rumpled and tangled, absently staring out the window. She slid up beside him and his gaze flicked to her, surprised, and then a small smile curled his lips. She glanced out the window to see what he’d been staring at, and Follow was racing around the backyard trying to catch a teasing butterfly. He was so bent on his pursuit he kept running into trees and hedges, shaking himself with frustration and then casting about for his elusive prey once more.

“Idiot,” she whispered, and then felt warmth pressed into her hands. 

She glanced down and saw a mug of coffee in her grip, with Spencer’s hands bracing hers. Her eyes flicked up and he was looking at her as if the world had contracted to the three feet of space they shared in Hotch’s kitchen. The look said, _this is everything_. It took her breath from her. 

She watched as one of his hands slowly rose, brushed her hair from her face, and skimmed her cheek with coffee-scented warmth. He just traced that shape of her over and over while the lines around his eyes crinkled.

_Fuck. We’re doing this. We’re counting on each other and getting down to work._

After years of going it alone, she suddenly felt like she had a partner again. She smiled.

“Good.”

It rumbled from behind them, and when they both turned, Hotch was there giving them a quiet nod, his clothes creased from sleep and his hair sticking out in silly tufts.

“Now, who wants breakfast?”

He shuffled into the kitchen, pulling down a skillet and lighting a burner without looking at them. Spencer pulled her closer, an arm looping casually around her waist as if they had always been like that. She leaned against his chest a little, slurping her coffee and watching Hotch root around in the fridge for butter.

“Keep Follow out of my roses, would you?” Hotch called over his shoulder without glancing back. “I already have traumatized vegetables to deal with.”

*END OF PART 6*


	28. Chapter 28

She went back to Manhattan, back to Pendleton, and running in Central Park with Follow at her heels. But she was only half present at any given moment. The parting at the airport had been abrupt, mostly because Follow was howling like a deranged lunatic and it unsettled both her and Spencer too much for a meaningful conversation. The night before had been treacherous, once again back in Pasadena and without Hotch in the next room to overhear them. Emily had let herself go completely, sinking down into the dangerous compulsion that had nearly broken them apart, but feeling she had no other choice; she needed him more than she ever imagined she’d need another, and they were about to go their separate ways again. She had to show him everything. He needed to know how rare it was.

Spencer had been lost that evening too, becoming insatiable and vocal in a way that shocked Emily. He used her roughly, and then with great tenderness, and finally with a reckless abandon that made him seem helpless against her. He gave everything he had, and it left her aching and stunned. She had no idea that he had any more to give, but there seemed to be depths that he kept to himself. It made her feel quietly, indescribably singular to be wanted that way, and there was something in the manner in which he cracked it open, shyly revealing it as if its ferocity were unforgivable. She was certain no one had ever given her that much trust before. Hotch had been right: Spencer’s love was profounder than anyone realized.

After they’d exhausted each other, the tears came. He hitched softly against her and she wrapped him up tightly, fighting her own until she couldn’t anymore.

“It’s just stupid panic,” he gulped against her, hands sweeping warmly up and down her back. “It’s just me being bogged down by my history: the night Dad left, or when Gideon ran away, the first and last day I knew Maeve, the phone call when I realized Mom had dementia…” He drew a deep breath in and held it. “I _know_ we’re not over. I know this isn’t the last time…”

“It isn’t,” she affirmed wetly, squeezing him tighter. “Fuck… I’m keeping you, Spence. You’re my best friend and I won’t let you slip away again.”

He sobbed her name once and they spent the rest of the night huddled together in the dark wishing the sun would never rise.

_One day we’ll be happy, Spence. We’ll argue about groceries and where to go for dinner. Your mismatched socks on the floor will irk me, and my sarcasm will grate on you. You’ll grumble that I never put the milk away, and I’ll yell about you never re-capping the toothpaste. We’ll fight and pout and do petty shit to each other, and every night we’ll climb into the same bed knowing that our time spent sleeping apart is behind us. We’ll be happy… everyday-kinda happy, and all of this heartache will feel like it happened to someone else. You’ll see._

 

But she’d returned to her conference calls and action reports, and he’d returned to his classes and thesis defense. New York was frigid and grey in midwinter, and Spencer’s voice was distant and tired on the phone, even when he tried not to be. One month slid by them, then three. Part of her that she kept on a tight leash began to thrash and pull her in the direction of doubt again.

“You sound tired,” she said one night when the conversation between them lapsed for too long. He sighed.

“I’m working day and night. I’m doing everything I can.”

“You can’t do that, Spence. You’ll burn yourself out, and that’ll turn into another setback.”

She knew it wasn’t fair to call their separation ‘a setback’. It wasn’t his fault or hers, it just _was_.

“I don’t have a choice, Emily. There isn’t another option for me,” he snapped suddenly. “Whenever I’m awake, all I can focus on is _getting this done_. I can’t turn it off, and I’m doing it for you, so… don’t tell me how to live in this, okay?”

She just sat there and felt the sting of his words, let them burn and then fall away as he breathed hard across the phone. Then she heard a loud sigh.

“I’m sorry. I’m not angry at you… I swear I’m not.”

“You can’t go on this way,” she said gently. “I could still come to you. That’s still an option-”

“No, it isn’t,” he said firmly. She sighed, frustrated with him. Frustrated and desperate to contribute somehow.

“What do you need, Spence? Tell me.”

“Hope, I guess. That’s what I really need,” he huffed. “But I don’t know how you can give that to me.”

It was a tall order because he’d been the one she’d always depended on for hope. She wasn’t sure how to give that back; she wasn’t naturally optimistic. But that never would’ve stopped her when they were friends and he was hurting…

“Spencer, if you weren’t working on a thesis, if you could do anything you wanted _right now_ , what would you be doing?”

There was silence over the phone for a while.

“I’d be having this conversation next to you. With my arms around you.”

She felt herself smile. “Thank you, baby. But I really mean it: big picture time. What would you most like to be doing?”

He was quiet again for a long time.

“I’d… I think I’d be writing another book.”

Her eyebrows rose. She hadn’t expected that. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“I thought you’d said all you wanted to say about being in the FBI.”

“I did, and I have. I was… uh… I mean, if we’re talking about doing _anything_ , I’d… I’d like to write a novel.”

“What?”

“I know. It’s probably not realistic. I have a hard enough time relating to people as it is,” he hedged, and she could hear the shame in his voice that he’d disappointed her with his silly ambition. “The memoir was only successful because it happened to me – I wrote it from a genuine place and that resonated with an audience.”

“Spencer, I don’t for one, single, hot second think you are incapable of writing a compelling novel.”

“You… you don’t?”

“No,” she said crisply. “My shock comes from not knowing this idea was even on your radar in the first place. You’ve never mentioned it – not once. So, explain to me why this appeals to you so much. What am I missing here?”

“Well…” 

He let that word hang in the air for a bit before he took a breath and launched into it. It boggled Emily’s mind, sitting there in his silence with the phone clamped to her ear, that this already meant so much to him he was worried about what she’d think of it. _When had this happened?_

“You see… I found that I really enjoyed writing the memoir. I wasn’t sure I would when I started, but the further I went, the more I loved the internal investigation, the revisions and refinements, the slow satisfaction of pulling something together, complete, out of nothing.” He sighed. “Other than finding you again, it felt like the best time of my life.”

“Really?” It came out more incredulous than she intended.

“Yeah. And there’s the joy of creating something with a comforting structure: a beginning, middle, and end. It’s the sort of thing that’s conspicuously lacking from life. It’s the kind of certainty I’ve almost never personally experienced. It just… it feels great – to have that sense of control. When I was writing, I felt at peace for huge swaths of time. I don’t think all of that is simply because I was talking to you in my head every day. It felt like… something more somehow.”

“Huh.” She didn’t know how to take that.

“Anyway, when the book was finished, I figured that feeling was over, ya know? But then it started selling, and there was the tour and I met a lot of readers… the feeling sorta came back.”

“Wow, that’s… that’s kinda amazing, Spence.”

“It was.” He was beginning to sound different – excited. “And then I started thinking about the power of stories, what they give to us as a culture and why they persist no matter how the medium changes. I began to look into cultural histories of them, I read about popular writers and learned what they thought of their craft. And then I started thinking about the thrill of creating worlds and lives in my head, how those thoughts could become real in the minds of others when they read about them… and then I started to think about writing another book.”

Emily took a breath. “Well, shit, Spence. This sounds like more than a ‘what-if’ fantasy…”

“I guess.” She could practically see him shrugging over the phone. She rolled her eyes at him anyway.

“So, do you know what kind of novel you’d write?”

“Uh… I think I’d write a thriller.”

“Interesting. Why?”

She heard him shuffling across the line. “I guess it’s the closest to what I know: the questionable, secret impulses of human behavior. I wouldn’t have to reinvent the wheel – I have an encyclopedic knowledge of profile markers already. All the research I’ve done says that you should write what you know.”

She laughed gently – she couldn’t help it. “I don’t think it’s called ‘profile markers’ in fiction. It’s probably just ‘characterization’.”

“Hmmmm, good point.”

She laughed some more and then let it fade. “You have a plot already worked out, don’t you?”

There was silence over the phone.

“Will you tell me what it is? Just the broad strokes…”

More shuffling happened and then he sighed deeply. “I can’t, Em. I just… not yet, okay?” 

His voice was quiet and tight, and she could almost picture the miserable torment wrinkling his features and pulling at the corners of his mouth. It stung that he wouldn’t share it, that he’d held this dream so tightly for who knows how long. But she swallowed it down and remembered that this hesitation was _real_ – their foibles were _real_ , not solved in a day or swept aside easily. Where once she would’ve retreated and imagined how this signaled a greater failing between them, she consciously decided to reach out instead, telling her pessimistic side to cool it when it hissed about impending doom.

“Okay, well… I’d love to hear about it some day. When you’re ready.” She was proud of the strength in her voice in that moment.

“Really?” he breathed. 

“Yeah, really. I understand this feels like too much of a risk right now. But I don’t think this is something you just fantasize about and never do. You’re _planning_ , Spence. And maybe this is part of your current frustration about your thesis: it’s pulling you away from this other thing you want to try.”

“I’m frustrated because I can’t be with _you_ ,” he said quickly.

“Well, yes. But it could also be this other thing as well. You’re a complicated guy, babe.”

“Hmmmm.”

There was another long silence between them.

“Spencer, have you considered that _this_ is part of the reason why you wrote the memoir in the first place?”

“I uh… I don’t follow.”

“Well, you wanted to make peace with your past, and you did. You wanted to tell me how you felt, and you did. Those were the obvious results of the initiative – they are what you _hoped_ would happen. But what about the outcomes you couldn’t foresee? What if the impulse to write the memoir was part of an unconscious drive to venture into something way outside of your comfort zone? It helped you test the waters of creativity and connection, and now, wanting to write a novel is the next step in that evolution. If someone suggested that you write a novel when you first left the Bureau, you would’ve turned them down flat, wouldn’t you?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“See? You would’ve considered yourself incapable of doing it. But now, it’s a real possibility. It’s something you _want_. This feels like a part of the memoir plan all along, just a part that you didn’t anticipate in advance. A learning curve, ya know?”

She let that statement rest for a while, and then continued when he remained silent.

“I think you need to listen to yourself more, Spencer. Trust your instincts. If you want to write a novel, write one. If your thesis feels like it’s holding you back from where you want to go, well… there’s nothing forcing you to do that. I’m not saying give it up but… you’ve already got three doctorates. You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone anymore. And perhaps the guy who collects accreditations is the person you _used_ to be, not the man you want to become.”

There was no response. She could only hear him breathing.

“It kills me to hear you breaking yourself for this thing whose only purpose seems to be its completion. Just… don’t plan so hard that you leave no room for life to happen, that’s all. Remember, the plan is the framework, and life is what comes from it…”

There was another terrifying length of silence, and Emily began to wonder if she’d stepped over an invisible boundary between them that he found unacceptable. Then she was drawn back to the present by him softly clearing his throat across the line.

“I don’t want you to ever assert that you aren’t my intellectual equal again,” he said quietly. “Because I think you just realigned my outlook irrevocably.”

“Oh. Well…” She felt her cheeks heat.

“God, I wish I could kiss you right now…”

She smiled and felt her blush get ridiculous. “I’m just looking out for my buddy.”

“Don’t do that,” he admonished softly. “Don’t diminish what you’ve just done. I really needed to hear that, and you offered it to me even after I refused to let you see all of it. I know you probably fought the urge to challenge me about the details.”

“Yeah, I did,” she sighed.

“Emily, when I’ve worked up the courage to embrace my next step – whatever it is – you’re going to be the one I confess it all to. No one else.”

“Okay.” It was a compromise, but a good one. It left her feeling contented and integral. And also, surprisingly mature.

“I love you.” His voice hitched.

“I know.” She held the phone as close as she could, wishing it was him instead. “Every time you tell me something that scares you, I know, Spence.”

And for that night at least, that was enough.


	29. Chapter 29

On a Wednesday afternoon in late April, Emily was pacing her office with the determination of a Marine recruit. Follow sat in his bed under her desk, his eyes trailing her as she circled again and again and again. His furry little eyebrows tented in perpetual worry at the inexplicable nervousness of his beloved human. He probably would’ve greatly appreciated her taking a break every now and then, if only so he could get a nap in. Emily’s anxiety was also noticed by her personal assistant, Wyatt, a quiet, buttoned-down kid from the Midwest who constantly amused her with his ability to anticipate her requests and the implacable reserve with which he executed them on her behalf. He was like a twenty-four-year old librarian with the soul of a World War II bomber pilot. And his variety of bowties was simply breathtaking. But even he couldn’t calm her today.

“May I get you anything, Ms. Prentiss?” he asked from the doorway for the fifth time, his face a bland mask, but his fingers laced tight enough that they were white at the knuckles. She ought to shut the door so he could get on with his day, she thought.

“A shot of bourbon would be nice,” she mumbled, turning to make another circuit around the room.

“Of course,” Wyatt said, not skipping a beat. “A cup of green tea coming right up.”

He exited crisply, eager to have something to do, and she rolled her eyes at him and grumbled in exasperation. Just her luck to get a Mormon assistant. She went back to pacing.

This was taking too long. Why was it taking so long? Surely, it was a yes/no situation, wasn’t it? But she didn’t really know. And there was the time difference – it was still mid-morning in California. She’d cleared her schedule and told anyone from Pendleton who ignored the time-block on her calendar that whatever their problem was, it could wait. She’d informed Wyatt that “unless something’s about to explode or be sold to terrorists, take a message”. Wyatt nodded and faithfully wrote down _explosions_ and _terrorists_ , as if he’d need to refer back to the list at some point.

Emily thought about calling for the twelfth time, then stopped herself.

_You can’t._

_Why not?_

_It’s rude. Presumptive._

_How is it ‘presumptive’? He’s **my man**. I’m worried about my man. I’m working a hole into the carpet over this…_

_But you’re not worried about the decision, only the fallout from it. And how it’ll effect you. It’s selfish._

_Stupid brain. Semantic hair-split. It’s all part of the same, tangled problem, you know…_

Her cell phone buzzed on her desk. She ran to collect it, tripping over one of her abandoned shoes in the process. She hissed, leaned hard against the desk edge, and answered the call.

“So?” she asked without preamble.

“I’m a Doctor of Physics,” he chuckled back with pride.

Emily whooped so loudly Follow bolted upright and smashed his head on the underside of her desk. Then his yowling joined her excited yelling, echoing through the office and possibly down the hall to other rooms.

“Oh my god, what is happening right now?” Spencer laughed as the chaos continued.

“Your boyfriend is a fancy-pants genius four times over!” Emily yelled at Follow, who was now dancing around her feet and barking enthusiastically at this new, mysterious game they were playing together.

“Em, you are completely ridiculous,” Spencer guffawed while Emily kept whooping loudly.

“Are you getting drunk to celebrate? Because I’m gonna get soooo drunk…” She glanced at her office doorway. “Wyatt, where’s that green-tea-which-had-better-be-bourbon?”

“I just _educated_ the brain cells within an inch of their existence. I don’t think _poisoning_ them is a just reward,” Spencer said warmly. “Mostly, I want to lie down and take a nap for a month…”

“Bullshit!” Emily chirped pleasantly and then whooped until the windows rattled.

In the doorway, Wyatt stood with a cup and saucer, owl-eyed at the dancing, barking, yelling extravaganza happening in his _very serious_ workplace. He lifted the cup and took a large swallow, wincing as it burned its way down his throat. Then, he turned and went to find a clean vessel to refill with booze for his boss.


	30. Chapter 30

It was a rainy, blustery day in Manhattan. The winds were so strong that Emily lamented they would blow down the late May cherry blossoms that she loved in Central Park. They never lasted long, but she cherished them while they were around. They had been her favorite in D.C. as well, and it was nice to have this one point of consistency in her ever-changing life. Sometimes Follow would come home with a few tangled in his scruff. It was one of the things that endeared New York to her.

But she was fighting off the melancholy of lost blossoms by planning a trip to L.A. in a few weeks. Now that Spencer’s thesis defense was behind him, they’d have time for each other. As much as she’d missed him since Christmas, she’d only made two quick weekend trips to see him, under the guise of checking in with the west coast satellite offices. The visits were hard: passionate and resentful by turns. They both chafed with a need to be together, but they still didn’t have a clear path towards that. And while Spencer was focusing on his defense, he shut almost everything and everyone else out. Emily tried to be patient and understanding, using emotional muscles that were mostly new to her. But it was exhausting.

As much as the visits were a mixed bag, their relationship over the phone held them together. Spencer was frank about almost everything in his nightly calls in a way he didn’t seem comfortable being with her in person. The conversations were less ardent but more intimate somehow; Emily felt that she learned more about him this way than by sleeping with him. It was their friendship turned up to be louder and _more_ , but it didn’t have physical complications. They weren’t parsing microexpressions or reading body language. They had to _say_ what they were feeling, and they did, despite their mutual cageyness. She found it ironic that the persistent friendship she worried would make their affair dull, was the thing that allowed it to survive. Emily looked forward to the day when their fractured worlds blended but knew that it would take some work when it happened. If they kept talking like they did each night though, she felt they could manage it. Love was the goal, but the friendship was the glue.

She allowed herself to get distracted while trying to pick dates and choose flights. The coffee Wyatt had brought her cooled on her desk until she remembered it. Taking a lukewarm sip, she turned away towards the windows and winced.

“C’mon, Prentiss. Head in the game now…” she chastised softly.

Her office phone rang, and the call display said it was her condo building.

“Emily Prentiss,” she answered, brows creased in confusion.

“Ms. Prentiss, it’s Yuri Zaitsev from the front desk.”

Emily blinked. “Hello, Mr. Zaitsev. What can I do for you? Is there a problem with my unit?”

“No, Miss, no. The problem is… he’s a person.”

“I don’t quite follow,” she sat back in her chair.

“He wants in, Miss. He made me call.”

Emily blinked some more, not understanding the situation at all, and then she heard a muffled voice asking to use the phone.

“…it’ll take a moment to clear this up. Thanks so much…”

“Spencer?”

“Hello, love,” he huffed. “Sorry about this but my battery died on the flight, and I just need to drop my bags real quick before I go to the interview…”

“Flight? Interview? … You’re in New York???” Her pulse sped up.

“Yeah, listen, I’ll explain it all later. Can you get this guy to let me into your place? I’m gonna be so late for this thing otherwise.”

“Uh… yeah, sure. Put him back on.”

“Thanks, Em. Can’t wait to see you.”

“You have so much explaining to do.”

“I know, I know. Here he is…”

Spencer breathlessly returned the phone to her doorman, whom she instructed to give access to her clueless, confusing boyfriend.

“Yes, Miss. I will do this,” Yuri agreed. “I will watch him closely.”

Emily smiled and thanked her suspicious doorman thinking, _well, he’s not wrong – Spence is sorta being weird about this_. Though she had to admit, she was excited he was there.

Her day was shot after that, all productivity being sidelined by guesses as to why Spencer was in the city, what he was planning, what he was interviewing for, and why he’d kept it all a secret. The moment the clock struck five, she and Follow were racing to the elevators down to the street and waiting impatiently for her car service.

Spencer wasn’t in the condo when she got there, so she had to content herself with more waiting. Shortly after six, Yuri called from the front desk.

“He comes, Miss. He’s in the elevator.”

“Thank you, Mr. Zaitsev. I appreciate it.” She smiled as she hung up, partly because the waiting was over and partly because Yuri still seemed massively suspicious of Spencer.

Moments later, Spencer was shuffling through the door, windblown and overloaded with take-out bags.

“Hello,” he smiled when he saw her, a little out of breath, and then he nearly dropped everything when Follow barrelled towards him, barking and jumping with excitement. “Oh damn… hey, Follow, how’s it going?”

Follow spun around three times and continued barking. Emily chuckled and then moved to relieve Spencer of the bags.

“Let joy be unconfined,” she murmured, and he glanced at her, then she leaned in and gave him a lingering kiss. His breath caught against her mouth, but he melted into it, his hand curling around her hip as he forgot all about the dog.

“Hey,” she whispered when they slipped apart, Spencer looking stunned.

“Umm… I brought dinner…”

“So I see,” she smirked. “It’ll be a nice accompaniment to the ‘what the hell’ conversation we’re about to have.”

His gaze flicked around guiltily. “Yeah, I know. You probably have questions.”

“Oh, brother, do I…” she laughed, and went to unpack the meal. “You want a drink for this?”

“Yes, please. Whatever wine you have lying around.”

He got down on his knees and gave Follow a proper welcome, scratching his scruff and asking him about his day while Emily plated up the Chinese food that appeared from the bags. Follow got in a few licks, producing amused huffing and “ewwws” from Spencer, but by the time Emily had dinner organized, her two guys were calmer and curled on the sofa together.

“You’re gonna get dog hair all over your suit,” she warned, setting their plates down on the coffee table.

“Too late,” Spencer grumbled, wiping in vain at the hair stuck to his pants.

“That’s a shame,” she chuckled when she returned with the wine, clinking her glass with his when he took it. “It’s a nice suit. Cheers.”

“You think so?” he smiled recklessly after a sip of wine, glancing over his charcoal pants and jacket with the indigo shirt underneath, all liberally sprinkled with white dog hair.

“Yeah. It adds some cool professionalism to your otherwise laissez-faire aesthetic.” She smiled and gave him an undisguised once-over from behind the rim of her wineglass. His cheeks got noticeably rosy from the effort. 

“Well, uh, I was trying to impress.”

“Impress whom? As much as I like the suit, I don’t think you wore it for me.” She leaned back into her corner of the couch and cradled her wineglass. “Time to let me in on the reasons for a sudden, cross-continent trip without warning.”

“Uh, yeah, so…” he huffed and readjusted his glasses nervously. “The interview was with Columbia University. It wasn’t an interview, really. The job’s mine if I want it…”

“What _job_ , Spencer?”

“In their Psych Department. They contacted me back just before I defended my thesis in April about it. I’m sure they got wind of me from the headhunter I hired-”

“Wait… you hired a headhunter?” Emily sputtered. “In April?”

“Before that actually. I wanted to know what my options were, who was interested… stuff like that. Instead of guessing, you know?”

She blinked at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It might have come to nothing,” he answered matter-of-factly, and she rolled her eyes.

“That’s not the point, Spence. All those nights when I asked ‘how was your day’, you could’ve said, ‘oh, hired someone to find me a job, nothing special…’.” She sighed at him. “I know you have this thing about being in control of where you’re going before you let people into your plans, but something like that effects us both. Even if nothing happened, it would’ve been nice to know you were doing it. A relief from the months of just keeping on keeping on, you know?”

“Oh. Uh… yes, that’s a valid point.” His eyes flicked over her anxiously. “I’m sorry, Em. I didn’t even think… It might have been soothing for you.”

“Soothing me isn’t really your job, babe.” She flashed him a quick smile before going on. “I just wanna know that you’ll let me participate in stuff that effects us. I want to be a part of those decisions with you, not after the fact. It’s what couples do.”

She caught herself off guard. How the hell would _she_ know what couples do? Spencer looked similarly surprised.

“We’re making choices… together.” He said it as a statement, not a question, but as if he’d never considered that statement before.

“Yeah. I mean… we are, right?”

He looked at her and started to blink too much. Then he bit his lower lip and nodded.

“Okay then,” he said after clearing his throat. “Here’s the choice we’re facing right now: Columbia is offering a full-time position teaching Criminal Psychology. I came here, for the interview and site inspection, to convince them to take me on in their Physics Department instead. That’s where my current queries lie, but my Psychology background is more extensive and, let’s face it, more glamorous. They declined the switch – the offer is for Psych only.”

“Well… how do you feel about that?” she asked.

He sighed. “It’s a little disappointing, and I’ll freely admit that I’m not used to being refused, academically-speaking anyway. I don’t want to get stagnant – I want to try new things. And continuing on with Criminal Psych feels like rote at this point. I felt like turning it down.”

He gave her a considered glance. “But then I realized two very important things.”

“What?”

“The first is: it’s just a job. For many years, my life was my job – it consumed me. But I don’t want that anymore.” He leaned forward and put his wineglass down. “You are the most important thing to me now. The _only_ thing. I’m not letting a job get between us again. I can take this offer, work at a top university, and satisfactorily leave its concerns on campus each night if it lets me come home to you.”

Her throat got tight and her pulse fluttered too quickly. “Spence, no-”

“Let me say all of it, Emily,” he held up his hand to stop her. “The goal of doing this was to find a way to be together. _This_ allows us to be together, in a great city, and both of us with meaningful work.”

“But if your heart’s not in psychology anymore…”

“It’s unimportant. My heart wants you. A job is a job. It’s about time I felt proud of something more than work in my life.”

Emily swallowed to ease her throat and then rubbed her eyes until her vision was clearer. “But you wouldn’t let me quit Pendleton. You wouldn’t let me sacrifice the contentment I get from my job for us. And now you’re turning around and trying to do exactly that. How is that fair to you?”

“It’s fair because it isn’t the same situation at all,” he smiled suddenly. “The Columbia offer… yeah, it’s not what I’d hoped for, but it’s still a _very_ good offer. Prestigious, even. I will not be miserable there. And that also brings me to the second consideration I have.”

“Second consideration?”

He grinned. “Teaching at Columbia puts me smack dab in the middle of a city _full_ of book publishers.”

She blinked, almost afraid to guess at it. “Publishers? You’re… you’re gonna write your novel?”

He gave her a half-shrug and blushed while smiling. “I’m going to try. I can’t stop thinking about what you said about it being an unintended consequence of my desire for change. That idea just burrowed into my brain and I can’t get it out.” 

“Oh, babe,” she grinned recklessly, put her wine down as well, and then shuffled across the sofa to grab his hand. “I am so fucking _here_ for this challenge. This is really exciting.”

He blushed instantly and found it hard to look at her. “Uh… thanks, Em. That really means something.”

“I know,” she said back quietly, and waited. “I’m proud of you, ya know. You always want to keep learning. Most of us are content to stay somewhere familiar and comfortable.”

He met her eyes again and squeezed her hand. “I’ve never thought of myself as someone who dares. I take a long time considering things before I do them.”

“But you _do_ them, that’s the part that counts. Making hasty decisions about important shit gets you into a pile of trouble.” 

Emily jabbed a silent thumb back towards herself. He looked away from her again, but his fingers laced through hers and wouldn’t let go. Eventually, she took a breath and asked the important question.

“So, this Columbia offer… is it something you want, or is it the excuse you need to move to New York? You could write a novel from anywhere, Spencer.”

He looked back at her in confusion. 

“If you’re going to move here, I want it to be for your happiness – the selfish kinda happiness you get from personal accomplishments – not just for me,” she clarified. 

He sat up a little straighter, his confusion evaporated. “The goal of coming here has always been an act of selfishness for me, Emily. What I want above all else is to be next to you every day. Even the novel rates in a distant second place after that. I know how you feel about this city, and it wouldn’t be the same if you moved out west. That’s really why I turned down your offer at Christmas. Even if I didn’t know how it would work out, long ago I decided that trying to get to New York would be the target.”

She blinked for a while. “I… I don’t know what to say to that.”

He squeezed her hand again. “Everything of value about me belongs to you, Em. I want to be here more than I can express, and this job allows that to happen. The headhunter brought me other opportunities – teaching positions in Physics with other institutions – but none of them resolved our separation problem. I made this last-minute trip in order to give my ‘pros and cons’ list a vivid context. And I have. The whole flight here I was excited to see you, and about the possibilities at Columbia. Yes, I couldn’t convince them to give me everything I wanted, but as I walked around the campus, I let that fall away and saw that this is still an amazing opportunity. If you have misgivings about it, I’ll listen, but I want to tell Columbia ‘yes’ for all sorts of reasons that have little to do with them which are nonetheless very important.”

He shuffled closer, so that they could curl into each other if they reached out a little. His eyes fell to their linked fingers between them, and then he removed his glasses and placed them on the coffee table next to his wineglass.

“This is our decision to make,” he continued quietly. “What do you want to do, Emily?”

She leaned in, resting her forehead against his as his eyes flicked up to hers. She untangled their hands and drifted her fingers up to cup his jaw lightly.

“Are you sure you’ll be happy teaching there?” she whispered damply.

“It’s just a job,” he brushed across her mouth as her nuzzled closer. “If I dislike it, I’ll find another.”

“What about your friends in Pasadena? Your students, skateboarding and swimming in the ocean? What about making sure Hotch doesn’t turn into a hermit?”

He smiled a little. “Hotch can come to visit. Or we can go to him. My friends can email and call. And as far as I know, skateboarding is allowed in New York State…” He sighed and then nipped her lips. “What should I do, Em?”

Her heart was hammering so much it was drowning everything else out. _Christ, this is it… it’s finally gonna happen… Is this how we solve something twenty years in the making?_

“Tell Columbia that you accept,” she said so quietly it was more breath than sound. 

“Yeah?” he whispered back, his grin something she could feel against her. His hands cupped her face bringing them impossibly close. “You want me here?”

He said it like a question, but it wasn’t one. It was more like the pervasive shock he held about almost everything to do with their relationship. She pushed against him, taking his mouth as he breathed through his wonder and then melted into her. She wiggled until they were right up against each other, their arms wrapping them close, and Follow abandoning the sofa with a growl of umbrage.

“Stay with me,” she breathed when they came up for air. “It doesn’t have to be here – we can find another place if you want. But, when either one of us thinks of ‘home’, I want us to be thinking about the same spot.”

He made a low, territorial sound deep in his chest that vibrated through her as he took her mouth again. “You’ll never get rid of me now,” he whispered the promise. “I’m yours, Emily.”

“It’s about fucking time,” she growled back.

Then she was pushing him hard into the sofa cushions, her kiss hungry and her hands roving all over the lines of his suit. He meeped against her as she shifted, trying to catch up as she accelerated ahead of him, but his hands were at her hips when she moved to straddle him, balancing her as she floated and settled with a quick whisk of her tailored pants.

She wrapped him up, hands curling around his neck and shoulders, pulling him to her as the new angle made their kiss deeper. His hands left her hips and slid along her silk blouse, up her back, cradling her as he leaned into it and added hunger of his own to the moment. His fingers splayed across her spine, rubbing, skimming with heat until the blouse came loose at her waist and one of his hands sneaked down and quickly slipped under to her skin. Her mouth popped away from his at the contact, letting a soft moan escape.

“Missed touching you,” he breathed down her neck as his fingers traced the outline of her bra.

One of her hands flashed to his jaw and brought him back to her mouth; she wasn’t done with his lips and tongue and teeth just yet. Leaning hard into the kiss, she forced him back into the sofa once more, and his hands drifted to her chest, drawing lines on her blouse with his fingers, tracing her breasts and ribs. Then she felt a small tug, and another, and another. Pulling back for a moment, she saw his long fingers working to part the silk. When she looked back, he was staring at her, face flushed and expression already lazy with want. She dipped in quickly and sucked his lower lip into her mouth, worrying it gently with her teeth.

“Jesus, no one looks at me the way you do…” she gasped into him.

“How do I look at you?”

“Like you want me to eat you alive.”

His mouth curled against hers, and then he slipped his tongue in, challenging her authority.

“That would be a good way to go,” he rumbled back.

A wave of want rippled over her, imagining him used up and satisfied by his own destruction, because of her. An inarticulate moan escaped her, and she ground herself against him. He was tight beneath her, every part of him hard as energy thrummed through him. He made a sudden, ‘oh!’ and she ground into him again, her hands now fighting with his suit jacket clumsily.

“Fuck… sit up a bit… wiggle your shoulders…”

He did as he was told, and she pushed his jacket down and away until it was lost in the creases of the couch. Then her mouth was at his throat while he stretched to give her more, his hands finishing what they started with her blouse and giving it the same treatment as his jacket. She scored him with her teeth when the warmth of his palm cupped her, fingers teasing the edge of her bra. She was oversensitive, her nipples aching against the fabric, and she swore gently into his skin as she tried to press herself into his hands for relief. He got more forceful, plumping and teasing by turns, making her curl and press harder. Christ, she loved his hands…

Then hers were moving on their own, wrestling with his tie and then ripping it free. 

“Oh, hey…” he mumbled in surprise. She sealed his mouth and went to work on the buttons of his shirt.

“Focus, Spence,” she warned.

Getting his shirt halfway open was the limit of her restraint, then she was rubbing along him unabashedly, his skin superheating her where they connected.

“That’s good…” she whispered, and he made an ‘ugh’ sound next to her ear as his hands clamped at her waist and dragged her closer.

“Yes,” he groaned back, his thighs shifting to spread her wider across his lap, and she felt him pressing urgently through their clothes.

Heat crested in her so suddenly that all she could do was choke and hold on as it ripped through her. There was a tremendous urge to press down into him, or pull him up into her, but they were stalled by their clothes and position. She didn’t think she had the wherewithal to struggle with either of their pants, so her mind feverishly latched onto the next best thing. Still rubbing along his chest as he moaned and crushed her close, one of her hands fumbled to her fly. She swore impressively while she fought it, but then she wiggled her fingers inside, forcing the fabric to bite into her ass as she got where she needed to be. Now finding herself oversensitive everywhere, she gasped hard into Spencer’s shoulder as she curled her hips into the delicious press of her fingers. He mumbled against her as she whimpered, and then she circled herself and rocked, slipping too easily, but with enough electric frisson that she forgot about the discomfort of her pants for a while.

“Hey,” he husked, and then reached down to pull her hand away. She fought him on it, but his grip was firm.

“What…” she gasped, a breath away from being angry.

“I want to do it,” he mouthed into her hair, and then his fingers were wiggling into tiny gap, making the tension even tighter, and leaving him almost no room to move. He slipped across her awkwardly at first, mapping her, but then he slid further and outlined her edges carefully. Emily breathed out a shaky, ‘fuck’ when one of his fingers slipped inside, and she ground into him to try and ease the ache that was building. He hissed, ‘easy’, and she realized how difficult their position was for them both, and tried to rein herself in a little.

“Sorry…”

“Ugh, Em… the way you feel…” 

His fingers retreated and then skimmed through her again, slick and warm as he curled a second finger up into her. She bit his shoulder to stop herself from slamming down on his hand. It was no good; no matter how great his fingers were, she was already beyond that. 

She pushed away from him suddenly, stumbled upright and back on her feet as her head swam with a terrible command to GET BACK THERE. Her pants caught around her hips and pinched where the fly was spread in a too-wide V; her panties clung to her damply, making her throb again when she realized it.

“Take off your clothes,” she husked to Spencer’s flustered, gaping expression. His shirt was half open and his dress pants were tenting noticeably. A scorching flush ran through her that she fought to shake off as she wrestled off her bra. “Now, Spence.”

He blinked once and then shook himself into action, making quick work of his shirt and then battling with his pants until they and his briefs pooled around his ankles.

 _Good enough_ , she thought as she jettisoned the last of her clothes, and then slid back over him, his mouth immediately at her throat and his hands curled around her ass trying to drag her as close as possible.

“You drive me crazy,” he rumbled into her skin as she trapped his cock between her and his stomach. “Legitimately insane for this…”

She laughed and ran her fingers through his hair until she could pull his head back with handfuls of tangles. It arched him back along the sofa ridge, making him all stark angles and lust-blown confusion. Then she leaned up against his chest even more, groaning with him when her aching nipples rubbed too hard between them, and she funneled the sound into his open mouth. One of her hands flashed down to unnecessarily palm his cock, smearing his excitement over her fingers as she kept rubbing along his chest like a demented cat. He made a tortured sound, something she lapped into her with her tongue before he tried to do the same to her, then she jammed her hips against him and slid down without any warning. His mouth ripped away from hers as she sunk deep and he filled her; she gasped, and he swore impressively, then he was mouthing her breasts and his fingers slid up her spine and dug into her hard enough to bruise.

“Yeah,” she moaned as she curled into him, rolling her hips and loving the feel of him moving under her. “ _Motherfucking Spencer Reid_ , yeah…”

“That shouldn’t be hot. Why is it hot?” He sounded confused as he bit the swell of her breast, then swirled his tongue across it.

“Because no one turns over my engine as quickly as you do.” She pulled his head up, took his mouth and twisted until he pinged her like a tuning fork. She gasped away for an instant to groan and rut back against that pressure, pressing her cheek tightly to his. His breath was choppy and short in her ear. “Fuck, you’re gonna set me off just by being hard inside me, dammit…”

He made some sort of feral noise and then jabbed his hips up for a blinding moment as his fingers clawed into her back and drove her down onto him again.

“Whatever it takes,” he husked thickly into her hair. “Just trying to hold on – pretty much there already.”

“Christ, why would you say that?” she whined, twisting in his lap and making them both groan. Then her teeth found his ear; he made a hysterical sound, and then she sucked it between her lips and he swore again gorgeously. “Foul-mouthed fiend…”

“Emily… goddammit…”

She smiled against him. It felt like he was doing it purposefully now. 

“Fancy Dr. Reid reduced to swearing and fucking, huh?”

“Fuck, yes,” he cried out, twitching under her and then shifting her with a rough hand suddenly at her hip. “ _fuck… what have you done?_ ”

She throbbed around him once, urgently, making him whimper. Then she shuffled her calves alongside his hips so that she tightened and curled to feel more of him. He cried out again, but kept pulling her into him, over and over, his hands now both clamped to her hips as he stretched long against the sofa back.

“Wanna come?” she murmured, trying to hide how she was already on her way there.

“ _Gonna_ come,” he wheezed back, eyes shut, neck tense and exposed under her mouth.

“This is why it’s _you_ , goddamned Spencer Reid,” she licked as he pushed up into her recklessly, making little soft sounds each time. For her part, Emily was already cascading, the fall getting faster and more gloriously frightening as she tightened and fought it. “Because just the idea of wrecking you gets me off so hard.”

His arms locked around her waist and pulled her so close they both yelped. Then he was pumping too fast, barely breathing, and her throb turned into a gut-dropping ripple that flashed over her and radiated out with terrible, heated arcs. He yelled something that might have been her name, pulled their hips together until they were almost glued, and then pulsed hard as he choked. She was lost in the ebbing satisfaction of that relieved ache shooting up her spine and out to all her limbs. Clutching him painfully, her fingers dug into the back of his neck and shoulder as she tumbled through it and melted into a wet mess against him. His hips rolled in slower and slower circles until he stilled and then relaxed. His hands left her hips, where she knew crescent bruises would form, and skimmed up her back and over her shoulders, curling to hold her close as they breathed together. She murmured gently against him but wouldn’t move – she didn’t want to lose the feel of their connection just yet. 

“Fuck,” she whispered.

“Yes.” His arms held her tighter. She nuzzled into his cheek and felt his lips brush along her skin in response. Then they just leaned against one another and remembered how to breathe.

“You were right, you know,” she mumbled eventually.

“About what?”

“That night after I took you to dinner. You said the prospect of us was exciting. You were right: we are damned exciting together, Spencer.” She smiled into his hair.

“I was talking about more than just sex.” His voice was amused.

“And so am I.”

“Oh… well. That’s fine then. Good to know. And it’s also beneficial to hear that the sex is up to par. A man worries about such things.”

She laughed at him then, pulling back until she could see his still-rosy, pleased face. “A man doesn’t have to worry on that score,” she teased. 

His amusement and smile dimmed, but his warm fascination remained as he watched her.

“Do I dare to hope that we may have finally defeated a majority of our worries?”

She smirked and kissed his forehead softly, brushing his unruly tangles away from him. “Don’t get cocky. I’m sure we can invent more.”

“Hmmm…”

“But I think,” she continued after a moment, when she’d rested her forehead to his. “We’re very close to having our story tangents combine into the main plot. I think it’s gonna be really satisfying for everyone when it happens.”

A chuckle rumbled in his chest, and it vibrated into her as he held her closer. But he didn’t comment further, just humming his contentment instead.


	31. Chapter 31

Emily exited from the bathroom toweling her hair and wearing nothing. Spencer was wearing nothing as well, but also wrapped up in her bed with the tips of his damp hair frizzing and curling. Their clothes may have still been scattered all over the living room, but she’d managed to get them both to a more comfortable spot, now made more comfortable for them both being clean.

He appreciated the view with a smile and a soft sleepiness all over him. She reminded herself that it had been a long day for him.

“Tired?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Hmmm…” 

She gave her hair one last scrub and then tossed the towel into the hamper in the corner, giving him an eyeful in the process. He was watching her closely, she noted, even though they were both probably going to curl up and fall asleep. _There’ll be plenty of time for that later_ , she thought. _He’s going to be here from now on…_

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

She looked over at him as he wore the smile she loved, and she smiled back, walking to his side of the bed and dropping down easily onto the mattress next to his legs. Her hand warmed his calf through the sheets.

“I’ll take your word for it,” she said, though nodding her head in gratitude when he looked like he was going to prove his statement. “But I’ll admit that I get a kick out of a handsome, younger man saying so. If you keep saying it, I’ll get spoiled.”

“Then prepare to be spoiled.”

“Silly man,” she grinned, and then leaned in to give him a soft kiss. “You’re making this way too fun. My pessimistic side is having a hard time not kicking in like a gag reflex.”

“Well, I don’t expect this transition to be pain-free,” he murmured, giving her a serious look from under his droopy tangles. “But I’m happy to celebrate this moment for what it is: a substantial turning point.”

“Agreed,” she gave back gently, and then fell into tracing shapes along his forearm while he watched her.

“Something on your mind?” he said after a length of silence. She looked up at him and shrugged, for once just living in the moment and not overly concerned about the ones to follow.

“Not really. I’m just happy, I guess. It’s a bit of a foreign experience for me.”

“I’ll take that,” he smiled.

She smiled back, and then a question occurred to her. “I suppose there is something…”

His eyebrows rose.

“Since you’ve decided to try writing your novel, will you tell me what it’s about?”

His expression got owlish and he began to fidget slightly. Then he took an audible breath and smoothed the sheets beside him.

“Okay,” he said softly, then his eyes met hers. “So…it’s the story of a pair of FBI agents – partners – told from one partner’s perspective. They are both highly-trained, decorated – they are often called in on the worst kinds of cases, and because they work so well together and achieve such consistent results, they don’t have a lot of oversight.”

Emily leaned a hand against the mattress and gave him her full attention.

“The problem is that this partnership has a secret. The female agent – the one who’s telling the tale – knows that her partner is a textbook psychopath. She’s known it from the first months after they were paired up, and now, five years into their partnership, she suspects he’s a killer as well.”

Emily felt her eyebrows rise. _Dark._

“But to make matters worse, she finds that she’s not bothered by this. She even works to help obscure the few times he slips up. She discovers he has a twisted logic to his crimes and she… sorta comes to believe in it too.”

He hesitated, looking very worried. “And she’s horrified when she realizes she loves him. It comes down to her whether he’s stopped or not.” 

Spencer fell silent and watched her closely, mouth tightening to a thin line. Emily blinked for a handful of seconds.

“That’s crazy,” she said finally. 

Spencer twitched and then tried to hide it from her, and suddenly her pulse was booming in her skull. She shifted over him on the bed, settling cross-legged on the sheets and leaning forward before he could start backtracking.

“Tell me more,” she whispered urgently, and his entire body language changed.

“M-more?”

“Yeah, tell me everything,” she nodded, not thinking how late it was or how tired they both were. Spencer broke out into an eager grin.

“Okay,” he agreed, hair flopping into his face, and then shifting around to get comfortable. “Well, it begins at a crime scene that seems familiar…”


	32. Chapter 32

Spencer accepted Columbia’s offer and was in Manhattan with an innumerable amount of boxes scattered around Emily’s condo four weeks later. The university wanted him for their fall semester, which meant his lesson plans and syllabi had to be ready by the beginning of August at the latest – it didn’t leave him with a lot of time to prepare. And though both he and Emily were excited at finally being in the same city together, the hiccups of cohabitation rose almost immediately.

“Spencer,” Emily grumbled, having stumbled into a packing box for what seemed like the millionth time in a month. “We need to get these boxes out of here. Could you please just unpack them?”

She licked spilled coffee off her fingers while Follow licked it from the floor. Spencer was spread out in the living room, brow furrowed as he peered over the swamp of papers and books scattered across every available surface. He didn’t look up or answer, just scribbling frantically instead.

“Spencer,” she said loudly. His head shot up.

“Oh, hello, love…”

“Did you hear me?”

“Did I hear what?” He bent back to his work.

“The boxes, Spencer. You need to unpack them. Today. I’ve been tripping over them for weeks now.”

“I can’t, Em.”

“Yes, you can,” she growled, making Follow whimper a little at her feet.

“It’s not a priority.” He waved the thought away, and the casual gesture lit a fuse in her.

“It’s not a priority for _you_ ,” she declared, and getting no response from him, stomped off to formulate a new plan.

Her plan ignited an argument that left them both red-faced and shaking, wondering if this was really the right move for them after all.

He found her that evening in the corner of the living room that held three built-in bookshelves, with his boxes open, slotting his collection into hers alphabetically. The blood drained from his face as he watched her, as if he’d walked in on her dismembering a body.

“What are you doing?” he whispered in horror.

“Unpacking your boxes,” she said matter-of-factly, and felt proud that she hadn’t taken a dig at his laziness in the same breath.

“Stop it. Right now.”

She looked at him and cocked an eyebrow. “What?”

“Stop it. Stop what you’re doing. Stop right now. Just… _stop._ ”

“No. You wouldn’t do it, so I am. It’s that simple. You can thank me later.”

“You’re doing it wrong!” he yelled from out of nowhere, his hands clenching.

“I beg your pardon?” she shot back incredulously.

He closed his eyes and swallowed something down. Then he slowly released his hands and when he spoke, his voice was a moderated, even tone.

“I have a system… I… it takes time… time I don’t have right now… please, Emily…”

Emily stood, frowning and suddenly spoiling for a fight.

“You won’t unpack, Spencer, and you won’t _let me_ unpack either. There are boxes everywhere – for your books and your office – half-opened whenever you need something and then abandoned. There are piles of clothing containers in the bedroom, an army of crap littering the bathroom counter, so I can’t turn around without knocking things over… the only room you’ve done anything in is the kitchen, and now I can’t _find anything_ because you reordered all of my cabinets!”

“Your ergonomics made no sense there. I-”

“It’s been a month, Spencer!” She stormed over him, heat prickling her cheeks. “When I ask you to do something about it, you blow me off. In fact, you’ve been blowing me off in general since you got here.”

“Emily, I have to pull together a year’s-worth of lesson plans in the next three weeks,” he snapped, stepping closer. “I already have office hours and pre-semester faculty meetings I have to prep for, and all of the content has to be approved in advance by the Department Chair. I’m sorry if this means you have to step around a few boxes for a while, but that’s hardly a comparable level of urgency, is it?”

“You condescending little…” She shook her head and waved away whatever was going to follow that. “You know what this really is?”

She swept her hand over the chaos of boxes.

“This is passive hesitancy.”

“Oh, come _on_ , Emily!”

“No, it is. You can’t find it in you to cement this move, so everything stays in stasis, leaving the option to flee _right there_.” She pointed at the open box of books at her feet.

“Don’t do this again,” he growled, his eyebrows lowering menacingly. “Don’t make up motivations for me. Do you REALLY think I’d cross the country if I wasn’t sure about this?”

“Then _participate!_ ” she bellowed. “I can’t have this, Spencer – this functional maelstrom you ignore at the same time that you ignore what it’s doing to me!”

“That’s the crux of it right there, isn’t it?” He sneered a little and pointed at her. “This is _your cave_ , and you only want to share it if I blend into the background and don’t upset any of it. All of this is yours and I’m just an ungrateful guest…”

“Spencer, this is OUR PLACE!”

“But I couldn’t bring my furniture.”

“You said it wasn’t worth the cost to ship it! I didn’t tell you ‘no’. All I said was that I didn’t know how we’d fit it all in!”

“You made it clear you didn’t want my worn things mixing with your muted, post-modern, personality-less chic.” He folded his arms and glared. “I have too many colors, too many frayed edges to suit you.”

“Oh, wow. Who’s projecting his insecurities now?”

“It would only bother you if I hit a nerve,” he hissed.

“You’re a raging moron, you know that?”

“And you’re just a shallow, scared girl.”

The sentence felt as if it’d knocked Emily down. She twitched visibly, and Spencer pulled back from his hunched aggression slightly. His features were less pinched, but his face was still mottled with emotion. They both blinked at each other for a tortured instant, neither one willing to be the one who broke it. Then Spencer abruptly turned, his expression closed off, and marched to the front door.

“Where are you going?” she called after him, guts churning.

“Out,” he bit back. Then he was gone with the door slammed soundly behind him.

Emily stood and watched the empty space where he’d just been. She stared and stared, imagining he’d reappear, and they’d rewind that scene to try it again, without the cheap shots and elevated volume. But, of course, that didn’t happen. In the end, she sunk back down to the floor and leaned hard against the heavy box of books she’d opened in order to provoke him. Her fingers traced the spines neatly lined up within.

“Well, you provoked, alright…” she murmured as the titles on the spines got blurry.

 

It was hours before he came back, letting himself in quietly and shushing Follow who rushed to the front door to greet him.

“Hey, bud, hi. Quiet… it’s late…”

She was still on the floor next to that box, but now she had a half-empty bottle of wine next to her, and an old notebook open, crammed with his spidery script.

“I’m not asleep,” she declared to the living room, and then his silhouette came into view, head cocked curiously, with Follow trailing behind him. 

He shuffled closer until he took on details in the dim light. His hands were shoved in his pockets and he slouched. When he was close enough, she saw the smudges under his eyes were darker. His gaze flicked to the bottle beside her and the used glass next to it, then they landed on his notebook. He stepped forward until he was standing over her. She let her eyes drift down to the open page; she traced her fingers across a scratchy note hastily put in the margin.

“Where’d you find this?”

“In the box,” she slurred, realizing for the first time that she was drunk. “Don’t worry – I didn’t unpack anything else.”

He sighed and then bent down, joining her on the floor with a crack of his knees. Follow clicked forward and lay down at his side. His hand reached out and turned the notebook to face him, his fingers tracing the words she’d just traced.

_She’s always loved me. What a fool I am._

“Was that J.J.?” she asked, stomach souring around the wine.

“No. It was you,” he said simply, tracing the words once more. “And I’m still a fool.”

She glanced up and he was staring at her, mouth drawn down in misery. “The things I said to you were horrible.”

“I wasn’t any nobler,” she huffed. “But the thing I’ve been sitting here trying to figure out is, was any of it true?”

He sighed and looked at his hands.

“You’re right,” she spoke first, and he glanced up. “I’ve been pushing you to blend into… this.” She waved a hand loosely around the condo. “Instead of finding a way to let you have some ownership in it.”

He shrugged. “I’ve probably been using the semester deadline against you.”

“Why?”

He swallowed hard. “The same old reasons: I’m scared you’ll be underwhelmed by this choice. But if I don’t deal with you, it forestalls it, or something.”

“Spencer,” she sighed, exhausted by this.

“I know, I know,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “There’s nowhere to hide from you now. I feel… exposed.”

“Don’t you _want_ that?” 

Her voice broke when she asked it, and he glanced at her, then shuffled closer across the hardwood floor. She felt her cheeks flame and told herself it was just the wine, but she leaned into his palm shamefully when he reached for her.

“I do,” he whispered, thumb stroking her cheek. “I’ve just… never done it before.”

“Me neither.” Her eyes flicked open and locked on his. “Me _neither_ , Spence.”

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then he shifted next to her and pulled her against him, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. Follow crept closer until he could press his body against both their legs, and he sighed. Emily laid her head into Spencer, relieved that it made the room stop spinning while calming her, then he rocked them gently, the floor creaking beneath them. He waited a long time before speaking again. 

“So, you got drunk, huh?”

“Fermented clarity,” she sighed. “It was either that or bawl my eyes out.”

“That’s close to what I did.”

“In public?”

“In the park, in the dark. And it’s New York – it would take more than that to get someone to ask about it,” he said.

She twisted and looked up at him. “I’m sorry. I keep making you cry.”

“I’m sorry too. It terrifies me how easily I can use my love to hurt you.”

She began blinking too much and struggled to get the words out before the wine took over. She placed a hand along his chest. “Can we try this again?”

His eyebrows creased.

“Can we get a moving in do-over?” she added.

“How would that work?”

“Well, I propose that we get some contractors in here to build you a study. Someplace that is truly yours, to your specifications.”

He blinked and looked around. “Where?”

“We can split the living room. That area that’s supposed to be the dining room? I never use it. Who does formal dining anymore, anyway? We can close it off and still have plenty of communal space left. The bookshelves can move in there, and you can organize them however you want. You’ll just have to teach me your system, so I can find stuff.”

He looked shocked, and his mouth twitched as if he wanted to smile but wasn’t sure about it.

“In exchange, I want you to put your clothes away, and place your toiletries in the cabinets. And I want us to revisit the kitchen set-up together. I’m just as twitchy about organization as you – just in a different way. Having chaos in my home is like a sliver in my brain. You need to respect that.”

He nodded, and then he allowed himself to smile. “Deal.”

“If you… if you feel like this place is too much me and not enough you… we can change that.” She rubbed her hand on his chest. “I love your color and eccentricity, Spencer. I want it in my life. It just might take some time for it to mix naturally.”

He knocked his head gently against hers, and both of their eyes closed. He started rocking them again. Follow snuffled at their feet.

“I can accept this,” he breathed. “Thank you, Emily.”

“I want you here, dumbass.”

“I want to be here. Believe me.”

Silence fell over them once more, and Emily felt herself drift against him.

“How long have you been sitting on the floor?” he asked.

“A while.”

“Are you still here because you can’t get up?”

“Maybe.”

His mouth brushed her temple and then he got up with a huff, gently pulling her to her feet, and back against him. “Let’s get the drunk lady to bed.”

She huffed loudly but let herself be led anyway. “See? I need you…”

 

When Spencer’s classes began in September, he was newly ensconced in a small study furnished with strange colors and decidedly odd things that emerged from his packing boxes. Emily paid a modest fortune to get it done quickly, wary of a new fight rising between them, but when it was complete, she found it was her favorite room in the condo. Follow loved it too, sleeping in the dog bed under Spencer’s antique desk even when he wasn’t around. Slowly but surely, those strange colors and odd choices seeped out into the rest of the place, until Emily called the contractors back to redo the living room, and then the bedroom in a style that blended their aesthetics into one. Spencer smiled when the endless line of tradesmen trooped through Emily’s sanctuary, getting her back up and being oblivious to her discomfort. He slid up beside her as she observed the plumber’s ass crack one day, and smoothed a warm hand along her spine.

“It’ll be done soon,” he whispered. “And it’ll be great.”

She couldn’t take her eyes off that hairy stretch of skin.

“Never underestimate how much I love you, Spencer,” she grumbled back, and he chuckled into her hair.


	33. Chapter 33

The bedroom was quiet except for the swishing of pages and the scratch of pens. Outside, Manhattan roared through an early-winter storm, but inside the condo was a different world. They mirrored each other – both propped against the headboard, legs stretched out with stacks of pages on either side, both scowling through their glasses as they read. Emily would finish with a page and place it on a pile to Spencer’s right. He’d eventually pick it up and review her marks, make his own, and then transfer the page to his left in a neat stack. Sometimes Emily would make a soft ‘hrmmm’ noise, and then flick her red pen. Spencer’s gaze would always flash to her nervously, but she kept reading and he’d eventually return to his pages. Occasionally, Spencer would make an interested sound deep in his chest, and his eyes would narrow to something marked on the paper in his hand, and Emily would feel one side of her mouth curl. But she tamped down on the quiet thrill and hope that sound produced, and kept reading. It went on like that for a long time with the storm raging outside.

Spencer picked up a page and scanned it. He wiggled on the blankets, making the stacks shift a little, and his mouth pulled down.

“Oh, I liked that part,” he murmured sadly, and then turned to face Emily as she gazed at him over her reading glasses. He held up the page with the section marked up in red. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It gives too much away,” she blinked. “You fell into profiling him – to explain his motivations – instead of keeping him mysterious.”

“But he _is_ like this. People will want to know why.”

“Most readers won’t. They’ll want the surprise more.” She shuffled against the pillows at her back. “I’d want you to keep me guessing right to the last chapter, right to the last page, if you can manage it. I’d want the realization of who and what he is to be like a bomb going off in my mind. I’d want it to haunt me after I closed the book: that I never saw it coming.”

His brows creased, and he looked worried. She watched him carefully for a handful of moments, taking in the blush rising in his cheeks and the tightening of his lips. She didn’t know if this was wounded pride or hidden shame, disappointment or concentration. In the end, she decided it didn’t matter – she couldn’t control his reaction anyway.

“It’s just one girl’s opinion,” she said evenly.

He stared at her. “It’s more than that, and you know it.”

The words were quiet and sharp, and they slashed at her. As much as they had evolved together, they still fell back into old habits when they were just _reacting_ instead of thinking. For her part, she was trying hard not to do that just then. She chose to hold onto her silent hope and excitement instead. She loved doing this with him, loved it more than she thought she would when he suggested it, but it didn’t mean that it wasn’t fraught with danger.

Eventually, he responded with, “I’ll take it under advisement.” That was it.

She nodded once, and turned back to her page, pulse thrumming a little. She marked it up – taking longer than she usually did because her focus was divided, but she placed it on his review pile and sighed as she settled back into her task. 

Before she could grab the next page, fingers caught hers, curling around them lightly. She turned suddenly to watch him. He brought her fingers slowly to his lips without looking away from the page in his other hand. His mouth brushed across her skin absently, and her breath caught, mesmerized by the simplicity of it. Without glancing away, he returned her hand to the blankets, picked up his pen again and resumed his annotations. She watched him scribble, bursting with completeness in that moment, wanting to tell him how singular this was, how wonderful he made her feel without even realizing it, even when she thought she was messing up. 

She swallowed it down instead, holding it close to warm her from within. Then she turned back to her pile and took up another page.


	34. Chapter 34

The pacing became too much, and when Follow joined in, mirroring Spencer relentlessly, she banished them both to the living room. He’d spent most of February holed up in his study working on what he claimed was his final draft. Unlike previous versions, he hadn’t let her read a word of it.

“I want you to come at this one when it’s complete,” he told her, eyes shadowed and worried as he watched for her reaction. “Not piecemeal like the other drafts. You’ve helped me so much already… can we try it this way now?”

She had agreed. What other choice did she have? And she hid the loss of their collaboration from him because she knew he wasn’t doing it to hurt her. He just didn’t know what it meant, and whose fault was that? So, when he handed her the neat stack of newly-printed pages with trembling hands, she gladly took them. Then she got frustrated by the pacing and shut him out.

And she read for eight hours straight.

After she placed the final page on the stack next to her in bed, she just sat in silence for a long time. It should have occurred to her that she was hungry or tired or dehydrated, but all she could do was sit and feel overwhelmed.

“Fuck,” she murmured eventually, trying to jumpstart herself to get up and face him.

She shuffled off the bed, hissing at her stiff muscles, and collected his pages. Then she walked out of the bedroom, hoping she had pulled it together, but seeing she hadn’t when Spencer hurried forward with Follow at his heels and his expression melted into something devastated.

“Oh…” It came out of him involuntarily. She knew she had to get out in front of this.

“I didn’t see it coming,” she murmured, and Spencer’s brows wrinkled. She lifted the stack of papers, almost surprised to see they’d followed her into the living room. “You changed the ending…”

“Yes,” he gulped, cheeks pinking up. “We’d tweaked so many details already, but it still wasn’t satisfying. I-I thought… I took a risk and tried something I wasn’t comfortable with, and…” His voice caught and then he cleared his throat roughly. “You hate it.”

“It’s amazing,” she said quietly, feeling disconnected from reality, her mind still lost in his pages. She watched as his anxiety immediately changed to disbelief, his mouth going lax and his eyebrows popping up. He stood like that, inert, arms useless at his sides while he just blinked at her. She took some pity on him.

“It’s dark, and ambiguous, and morally unsettling…” she explained. “They are _wrong_ – just plain wrong as people – and I found myself rooting for them. And the end… Christ, Spencer, I didn’t see that coming, and I think you might have broken me a little with it.”

He kept blinking at her.

“It’s goddamned _riveting_.”

He took a huge breath in and held it. Then he straightened his shoulders as he stared at her. “Really?”

“Fuck.” It shuddered out of her, and his hands landed on her arms, anchoring her. She glanced up into his cautious gaze. “That messed me up.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for creating imaginary people who _feel_ real, Spence. That was the goal all along.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean to break your brain in the process,” he smirked, and then pulled her closer. “You know this wouldn’t exist without you, right?”

“You wrote it,” she shook her head.

“But it wouldn’t have been _this_ without your insights.”

She looked down at the pages in her hand. “I don’t know who will publish it, or if people will want to read it…”

He shuffled against her, an arm wrapping around her shoulders, pulling her to his chest. “I don’t know either, but that’s not really the point.”

“How can that not be the point?”

He sighed and brushed his mouth against her temple. “I wanted to try something I’d never tried before. And the only audience I cared about was you. That’s why I asked for your help.”

She looked at him. “You really don’t care if it ever gets published?”

He shook his head slowly, lines crinkling around his eyes. “It was a worthwhile investment just to spend months working on it with you. That was the best, Em, honestly. I enjoyed every discussion, every surprising idea and twist.”

She leaned into him, stunned, and watched his amusement at her slowly bloom across him until he chuckled.

“You shock the hell outta me,” she said eventually. “Like, _constantly_.”

“Is that a good quality?” His brows wrinkled in confusion again.

“I think it’s worth its weight in diamonds,” she shrugged. “It always keeps me on my toes, that’s for sure.”

She felt his chest expand against her and she looked back at him. His expression had turned serious in a heartbeat.

“I want to always keep you on your toes,” he whispered.

“I’m sure you will,” she smiled back.

“No, Emily.” He paused for effect and then gave her the most focused stare she’d ever received from him. “I want to do that. Forever. I’m… I’m asking you if I can do that forever.”

_Oh._

She blinked and felt her face heat under his scrutiny. Then she drifted her free hand up to brush his hair away from his sharp lines and penetrating eyes. He didn’t move, mouth falling open slightly, but remaining silent. Her fingers skimmed down to hold his jaw and then, as she held his gaze, she slowly drew him in for a kiss. Her hand still clutching his novel pages curled around his back. They breathed together, pulsing as one with quiet anticipation, and when they slipped apart, she breathed, “yes” into his mouth. He grinned against her, joyful and little bit crazy, and he kissed her again and again, his arms tightening.

“Sweet, strange, crazy, brilliant, wonderful you,” she murmured into his skin. “What would you have said if I told you the book was crap?”

He laughed loudly, his chest vibrating them both as he held her.

 

Ten months later, after they’d found a publisher willing to take it on, Spencer Reid’s novel was on bookstore shelves everywhere, confounding critics and readers alike, so much so that almost no one noticed the strangely disturbing story was dedicated to his wife.


	35. Chapter 35

**Three Years Later**

“I’m just saying it’s weird is all,” Morgan huffed.

“It’s weird that I love her?” Spencer asked over the rim of his wineglass.

“No, man.” Morgan rolled his eyes. “It’s weird that you’ve dedicated a series of books about high-functioning, murderous psychopaths to her. That’s a weird way to tell your woman how you feel about her.”

“I think it’s sorta on point for them,” Hotch chuckled while scratching Follow’s scruff. “And it’s touching in its own way.”

Morgan arched an eyebrow at his former boss. “The Plant Whisperer doesn’t get a vote on this weirdness.”

Hotch laughed loudly, much to Morgan’s dismay.

Emily watched Spencer holding court across Rossi’s living room. It was Christmas, and the first time Rossi had managed to get the entire old crew back in the same room together. They were all there to celebrate the season, and the fact that Rossi’s next book was about to drop in the New Year, but the conversation kept circling back to Spencer’s surprising status as a fiction writer, and the impending arrival of his third novel.

“You don’t get it, Derek,” Spencer said. “It’s not just that I love her, it’s because the books wouldn’t exist without her. She strategizes, she critiques, she’s edits… if I could convince her to take a co-authoring credit, I would.”

His eyes found her across the room next to Lewis, and his gaze was intent, making her flush a little at his lack of filters in a party with some of the most observant people she’d ever known. He’d been throwing her looks like that since they arrived, and it was messing her up, which was why she was on the opposite side of the room. His mouth curled a little and she thought, _cocky bastard_ , and she smirked back.

“She’s his muse, Boo,” Garcia cooed, and Morgan huffed, realizing belatedly that he was losing this argument. “It’s _delicious_. Though not as delicious as the crazy-sexy, weird stuff they write together like a twisted take on a Victorian epistolary affair that we all get to read.”

Spencer cocked a dubious eyebrow at her.

“Seriously, don’t tell me you guys don’t go at it like possessed rabbits after writing some of those scenes…” 

Garcia fanned herself and shot him a wicked grin. Spencer turned away and blushed. The room laughed and Follow shuffled away from Hotch to nose Spencer and give him a consolation lick. Rossi stepped forward, face flushed from scotch.

“Smutty prose aside, does anyone want to hear about my latest book, or did you just come for all the food and booze, you freeloaders?”

“Does your latest book have smutty prose?” Hotch intoned seriously. Rossi blinked at his friend like he’d lost his mind.

“It’s a Bureau case study,” he said. Everyone groaned a little.

“Then, by all means, put it to the room,” Hotch suggested. “But I’m pretty sure the group will vote for the smut.”

Laughter broke out again, and Rossi waved them all away while taking a liberal swig of his scotch and calling them deviants. Spencer’s eyes flicked up and found Emily again, his blush still in force, but that same glittering intensity heating her as he laughed with the others.

_Christ, we’re gonna end up in a closet somewhere before the afternoon’s out…_

Tara chuckled beside her, enjoying Rossi’s pantomimed offense. “So, things are good with you two, huh?”

“Real good.” Emily forgot herself and said it a bit too breathlessly.

“Jesus, girl, do you need some water?” Tara laughed at her. “Surely the honeymoon period’s over by now.”

Emily felt her face flame, but she soldiered through it and sipped her wine. “Honestly, we’re unsuitable most of the time. It was like that before we got married and it hasn’t changed much.”

“You’re lucky,” Tara gusted, knocking Emily gently with her shoulder. “You know that’s not normal, right?”

“Yeah, I do.” Emily looked across the room, watching Spencer laugh with their friends, lit from within by it. “I don’t take it for granted, believe me. Not anymore.”

“Good,” Tara sighed. “Then all that bullshit you put each other through wasn’t just… _bullshit._ ”

Emily turned back to her and watched her drink her wine. “It’s nice when shit has a purpose to it.”

“I suppose,” Emily conceded, but quietly decided that nearly twenty years of bullshit was a high price to pay for figuring out how to be happy.

 

He found her later in the afternoon, as the weak winter sun was dimming, and the house drew closer and warmer as a result. She felt him before he reached for her, even though he was behind her. His hand slid against hers and curled around it. She turned, and he was _right there_ , almost close enough to feel his breath on her cheek.

“Come with me,” he whispered, and she smiled, already shivering in his grip as he pulled her away from the party.

He’d found somewhere bigger than a closet, which she supposed was something. It was a forgotten powder room under the back stairs close to the kitchen. Emily tried to remember how many bathrooms Rossi said he had as Spencer shut them in and locked the door, but she ended up concluding that Rossi simply had too much money.

Then Spencer was kissing her, clutching her with urgent hands along her jaw, and pressing her towards the vanity. He was already hard and not bothering to hide it, one hand flashing down to grip her around her waist and press her into it unabashedly.

“Haven’t been able to take my eyes off you since we got here,” he sucked down her throat as she sighed and stroked her fingers into his hair.

“I’ve noticed,” she breathed, arching against him and glad that she wore a dress to the party. It would make things easier. “Might as well have declared to everyone that we were cutting out for a few minutes to go fuck.”

He groaned and pressed into her even more. “Can we? I mean, I was just planning on making out a little… to cut the edge a bit.”

She laughed at that. “People will notice you walking around with an erection. That’ll lead to all kinds of conversations you’ll want to forget.”

She pushed him away, taking in his blown-out expression and creased clothes. Then she hitched up her dress and wiggled, sending her panties sliding down her bare legs to pool around her high heels while he watched, riveted. She kicked them free with a grin, warm all over from hours of his stares and shy smiles.

“Make it quick,” she whispered, as she turned to face the vanity mirror, pulling her hem above her hips, and revealing her ass. “Before someone comes looking for us.”

She widened her stance and leaned against the counter with her back arched slightly, knowing the show she was giving him, all exposed and in heels. But then she thrilled to watch it ignite his reflection in the mirror. He growled something – she was sure it was meant to be words, but they dissolved on him – and then his hand clasped her hip sharply as she saw him fumble with his fly. She held her breath, waiting, watching his concentration behind her in the mirror; she was almost tingling with how rough and basic it was going to be.

He bent suddenly, his head disappearing from her view, and then she felt his mouth on the small of her back. He left a showy, wet kiss there, and then breathed across it, “I love my wife…”

He pushed into her without warning, too quickly and fully, making her gasp hard. His fingers dug into her hips, but his voice was gentle.

“Sorry. You okay?”

“Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. Setting up a brisk rhythm, he throbbed into her over and over, groaning softly each time he went deep and she huffed out an “oh”. He shuffled a little, forcing her legs wider with his thighs, and sighing when she responded, the bunched creases of his pants biting into the back of her legs as he got a little more of her.

“fuck…” he whispered.

“Spence…”

“won’t last…”

“S’okay.”

She watched them in the mirror: her with her dress folded over her back, her hair swinging as they moved together, now more white than grey, her fingers clutching the counter and her mouth open as she gasped. His head was bent as he worked her, focusing all of his energy down his spine and through his hips as he throbbed into her. His fingertips were white where they bit into her skin, his suit creased, his sweater vest untucked, his mouth straining as if he couldn’t breathe, effort on his face hidden by the tangles fallen into it, now noticeably grey at the forehead and temples. She flushed hard at the sight and she bore down, making him swear again.

“Spence…” she moaned as she arched and skewered back into him. Then he was pumping into her hard, making her hands slip across the counter as she tried to hold them steady, and he called out her name over and over.

“Someone will hear,” she warned with a gasp, as she fumbled a hand between her thighs to brace her clit. “Careful…”

She worked herself quickly, getting to a level where she shivered and tightened around him, moaning softly, ducking her face down into her supporting arm and arching herself more. Then he gripped her almost painfully and buried himself to the hilt, stuttering unevenly and going stone still behind her. She looked up and saw his head tilted back, eyes clamped shut and mouth wide as he strained silently. His hips retreated for a second and then rammed home again, and again. She rubbed herself as she watched, stretching out the low-grade buzz as it warmed and softened her, then he sagged over her back, hair spilling across her shoulders as he choked and his hands smoothed circles into her hips.

After a moment, he groaned and slipped from her. She straightened her dress and cleaned up with some tissues. She could hear him zipping up behind her, and when she wiggled back into her panties and turned to him, she was still pulsing from the feel of him – not quite satisfied, but more relaxed. Washing up and smoothing her hair, she watched his rosy expression, his blown-out gaze still intent on her.

“That’s not how I wanted that to go,” he mumbled, trying to sort out his wrinkled clothes unsuccessfully. She stepped close and gave him a hand. “But I’m grateful.” 

She leaned in and gave him a lingering, breathless kiss, still worked up, but when she pulled back she had it under control and she smiled, realigning his tie.

“We’re fooling around in one of Rossi’s bazillion bathrooms, in the middle of a party of drunk profilers. I knew we wouldn’t have the luxury of time. It was still nice though,” she winked and smoothed the creases from his sweater.

“Yeah?” he grinned.

“Yeah. Sorta silly and reckless in a completely age-inappropriate way. We’re supposed to be grown-ups, you know. We’re not allowed to have fun like this.”

“Or fun writing books, apparently.”

“Well,” she huffed and waved it away like it was nothing. Then she backed up a step and appraised her efforts. “Okay. You’re suitable to go back out there.”

He closed the gap between them again and slid his arms around her waist, nuzzling her cheek with his goofy grin. “I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured. “Tonight. We can have age-inappropriate _hotel_ relations. Less chance of interruptions.”

“Well then, everyone wins in this scenario, don’t they?” she chuckled as he caught her ear lobe between his teeth. 

“Hmmmm, I love my wife…” he said again, cuddling her closer and threatening to set something off again. She wiggled in his arms, trying to get them out to the party while the going was good.

“Don’t start with that.” She swatted him but found she didn’t want to go back just yet. Damn him. He arched his head back until he could give her an appraising look.

“So, we’re ‘fun’, huh?”

“Fun for each other,” she shrugged. “I’m not sure outsiders would call it that. I’m pretty certain most would qualify it as ‘weird’, like Morgan has.” She wrapped her arms around his back and smiled, loving his wiry solidness and warmth against her. Screw the party – it could wait a few more minutes. “You make loving you fun, Spence. The last three years have been the best of my life. You were the most rewarding risk I ever took.”

“Emily,” he exclaimed softly, hand rising to stroke her face as he blinked too much. “I’d do it all again. All of the stupidity and futile waiting… all of it, just to have this now, here with you. I wish it hadn’t taken so long but… we found our story eventually.”

“Yeah, we did,” she murmured back, her vision getting a bit watery on her. “And against all of our best efforts, we turned out to be the main characters after all.”

He smiled, and then dipped in and brushed that smile across her lips. She hummed contentedly and nipped him back.

“Husband,” she whispered with an earnest sense of possession. He breathed unsteadily against her mouth.

“Sometimes I look at you and can’t believe you’re really mine, even after all that’s passed… this vibrant, exciting woman…” he whispered back.

“Can’t get rid of me. I just keep turning up.”

“It’ll never be anything less than amazing to me, Em.”

His fingers ran through her hair and curled her to his chest, and they stood there, swaying together in Rossi’s lost bathroom until they blinked back the tears and calmed their hearts. After all, they still had Christmas dinner to get through.

“C’mon, we should get back,” she pulled away first, dabbing at her eyes and patting his chest.

“I guess.”

But they hadn’t escaped everyone’s notice. When they unlocked the door and peered out, Follow got to his feet and began panting happily, his tail wagging at their re-emergence.

“Oh no. Do you think he was there the whole time?” Spencer gasped. Emily turned and chuckled at his alarmed expression and rising blush.

“Of course, he was. It’s not like it’s anything new to him.”

Spencer waved his hands around in the air and closed his eyes. “I’m in willful denial that our dog watches us having sex. You know that.”

Emily nearly guffawed, reaching for Follow and giving him an enthusiastic scratch as she told him he was a good boy. Follow’s tail went into overdrive at the praise.

“Well, I hope you get over that by tonight. We can’t lock him out of the hotel room, you know.”

Spencer looked affronted but took her hand and walked them down the hallway, Follow clicking after them.

“I have priorities, Em,” he said haughtily. “For a portion of this evening, my brain will simply block out that we have a dog. He won’t exist in my conscious mind. I’ll have… more pressing concerns.”

Emily kept laughing, and Spencer turned to Follow.

“Sorry, bud. No offense,” he said. “I’ll put blankets down at the bottom of the bed like always.”

Follow barked and wagged his tail again, trailing after the two most important characters in his story as they headed back to the party, and taking no offense.

*END*


End file.
